Secrets and Sacrifices
by kstorm
Summary: An alternative to the beginning of Season 9, this story ignores everything after the end of A Tangled Webb pt. 1
1. Chapter 1

Secrets and Sacrifices

Author:  kstorm

Disclaimer:  I don't own JAG or any of these characters; I'm just playing with them.

Author's Notes:  This is my second JAG fic, but the first one that I'm going to post (they're both WIP but this one is taking over my thoughts, lol)

                          I don't have a beta reader at this point in time so any and all mistakes are mine.

Part 1

It's been three years since Paraguay.  Three years since Harmon Rabb decided to leave everything behind and go after Mac and Webb.  More importantly, it's been three years since he disappeared from their lives.  Now he's about to reappear.

            Lieutenant Colonel Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie, Commander Sturgis Turner and Lieutenant (jg) Jason Tiner are quietly discussing a case in the corner of the packed room when Admiral AJ Chegwidden asks for quiet.  In an instant you could hear a pin drop—were it not for the noise of the carrier around them—as the men and women gathered stop speaking midsentence.  

            Mac can see the lines of tension around AJ's eyes as he looks out among the crowd, lines of tension that weren't present when they arrived on board an hour ago.  "Most of you don't know why you were all called to be here today," AJ begins the speech prepared for him by Lieutenant Bud Roberts.  "Even my staff and I have been kept in the dark as to the purpose of this meeting—except the need for our presence.  I have to admit, this is the last thing I was expecting…"

AJ's eyes wander to his staff in the pause he takes to gather his thoughts.  This is going to be more difficult than he realized when he first opened the folder handed to him by the skipper on his arrival.  Mac, Sturgis and Tiner had already gone straight to the room where the briefing was to take place; AJ'd had orders to see the captain upon arrival.  He brings his thoughts back to the present; the short pause has started to drag on and those gathered are getting restless.  Glancing again at his people, AJ sees the confusion on Tiner's face—he'd helped Bud with the speech and can't figure out why it's not going farther, the concern from Sturgis and the thoughtful concentration from Mac—she must have noticed the tension, AJ muses.  

"What we've come here for today is something I have waited for several years to see implemented," AJ completely disregards the outline provided to him by Bud and Tiner.  "After a particularly busy month at JAG Headquarters where one of my attorneys spent the majority of the month traveling from one carrier group to another to answer questions and conclude investigations, I made a suggestion for a new position—that of a fleet JAG.  The fleet JAG would have the immediate oversight of all JAGs deployed.  He or she would be a sort of buffer between you, the JAGs on ships, and my staff and I at JAG Headquarters.   This position would help with the lag time between reports and assignments.  I am pleased to announce to you that the position of Fleet JAG has been approved.  I'm sure you will have many questions, but I ask you to reserve them for your individual meetings later.  For now, please welcome the first Fleet JAG, Captain Harmon Rabb Jr."


	2. Chapter 2

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 2

Somehow Harm and Mac managed to walk away from the crash in Paraguay with only minor injuries—cuts and bruises.  It took two days for them to reach civilization through the rough terrain, arriving at the hotel tired, hungry and sore.

A meal and several hours of solid sleep were on the agenda—the few supplies Harm had in his pack were the only casualties of their crash.  Neither Marine nor Sailor knew much about the local flora; they chose instead to play it safe and not tempt fate, running on pure adrenaline and the water they found along their way.  During the two nights spent in the jungle, sleep was attempted when it became too dark to walk, but it didn't come easily to either.  Conversation was kept to a minimum, somehow Harm didn't 'find the time' to mention his resignation to Mac and Mac was so confused over the kiss with Webb she didn't know Harm had witnessed to know how to explain it to him, had she known he'd seen it.

Once fed, rested and fed again, Harm and Mac set out to find Gunny and any information they could about Webb.  They barely made it out the front door of the hotel before the subject of their search descended upon them.

"Sir, Ma'am, you're safe!"  His relief was evident.

Mac pressed for details before relenting and relating their story to her fellow marine.  Gunny assured them that Webb would eventually be fine; the doctors were optimistic about his chances for survival and were allowing him to return to the states the following day.  Harm told Gunny about leaving their passports and money with the German farmer in exchange for use of the plane, and was awed when the items were handed to him.  It turned out the farmer was working with Sadik, but when the stingers were destroyed—by someone flying HIS plane, he quickly turned himself in.

Gunny next handed them each a ticket for a return flight home.  Although they were on the same flight, the seats were at opposite ends of the plane.  "They were the last two seats available until next week," Gunny explained.

They retreated to pack their bags and met in the hotel 'lobby' 30 minutes later.  Mac persuaded Gunny to take them by the hospital before they went to the airport.  Gunny was tasked with making sure the two of them made it on the plane, but in the interest of decency he acquiesced to her wished.

Webb barely knew they were there.  Mac noticed a certain tension in Harm throughout the visit.  He didn't approach the bed too closely or try to speak to Webb at all.  Mac conveyed their best wishes to Webb and, befuddled by his demeanor, followed a sullen Harm back to the cab Gunny was holding for them.

Gunny accompanied the two to the airport, inadvertently giving Harm an excuse to not have to explain his actions to Mac.  He remained until their flight was called and once on the plane, Mac was unable to find an opportunity to talk to Harm in the packed plane.

They were met by CIA agents at the gate who whisked them off to Langley, separating them for debriefing as soon as they arrived.  After several grueling hours, Mac was released to return home—an agent assigned to drive her as she had no vehicle there.  She asked about Harm only to be told he was still in debriefing and no, she couldn't wait for him.  Little did she know, his debriefing was almost over, he then spent several hours with Deputy Director Kershaw after which he was dropped at his apartment.  

There were just two messages on his machine when he arrived there.  The first was AJ, instructing him to call the moment he got home, no matter what time it was.  The second was from Mac, wondering if he wanted to grab a bite to eat.  'She must have been cut loose earlier than I was,' he mused.  The time stamp confirmed his thoughts, she had left the message several hours before.  Considering it was now midnight, he decided not to return Mac's call until the next day; she was probably already in bed with all she'd been through lately.  He wished he could also ignore the admiral's call but he grabbed the phone and dialed.

Once the pleasantries were exchanged AJ asked him what his intentions were.

"Regarding what?" Harm asked.

"Regarding your career and returning to JAG," AJ stated matter-of-factly.

"I was under the impression I resigned," Harm returned.

"We couldn't have an active military officer charge down there and get involved.  That's why I wouldn't send you or allow you leave.  And it's why I didn't try to talk you out of it," AJ explained calmly.  There was only silence on Harm's end.  "I haven't processed your resignation.  Technically you are on the leave you originally requested."

"I'm having a little trouble processing this right now," Harm admitted after another round of silence from his end.  He'd only had 6 meaningful hours of sleep in the last week and is crashing fast following his lengthy debriefing—no amount of caffeine was going to keep him awake much longer.  "May I have a little time to recover?  Once I've actually gotten some sleep and thought things over, I'll come to see you," he suggests blearily.

"My office, 0800 Monday," AJ conceded.  "After that I process your resignation and begin looking for a replacement."

"Understood Admiral.  I'll see you Monday 0800.  Goodnight sir," Harm agreed, barely managing to hang up the phone before sleep took him.


	3. Chapter 3

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 3

Harm stands nervously outside AJ's stateroom, waiting for an answer to his knock.  The announcement was made an hour ago; it's taken him this long to make his way through the hordes of officers wanting to introduce themselves or ask a question.  In his sweaty palms he holds the note AJ slipped to him when he turned the floor over after introducing him.  'See me in my stateroom after announcement' was all it said.

            Inside the stateroom, AJ has been using the time to familiarize himself with the additions to Harm's service record—or at least attempting to.  Most of the additions in the last three years appear to be classified, they are blacked out in the copy he was given.  The largest unedited passages are the descriptions of the various medals that have been added, although nothing from the reason FOR the medals has survived.  

            AJ is so intent on the folder in front of him that it takes a while to realize someone has knocked on his door.  "Enter," he calls brusquely, not bothering to look up from the folder.

            "Co…Captain Rabb reporting as ordered sir," Harm stammers, stopping in front of the desk and snapping to attention.

            "Recent promotion Captain?" AJ asks mildly at the slip.

            "Yes sir."  Harm is still staring straight ahead, rigidly maintaining his stance.

            AJ finally looks up from the folder and takes a good look at the man in front of him.  Harm looks like he's aged more than the past three years would account for.  "At ease," he says finally.

            Harm relaxes into a parade rest stance, not at all sure what his former CO's reaction is going to be.  He is certain this conversation will get unpleasant.

            There are many questions AJ wants to ask, he's just not entirely sure he's going to be happy with the answers.  "How recent?" he asks.  Maybe he can sneak in below Harm's radar and get the answers he wants without triggering the defenses he can see are nearly fully deployed.

            "Just this morning, sir," Harm answers.

            AJ is taken aback.  Did they just dump this on him today?  He feels a twinge of sympathy and buries it quickly.  "Have a seat," he offers, making another small move under the defenses.  He wants more elaboration in the responses to his questions and getting that from the officer standing so precisely at rest in front of him will be next to impossible. 

            Harm is nervous.  He was expecting the dressing down of a lifetime.  Instead he's been invited to sit and relax his guard even further.  The thought crosses his mind that his former CO is just waiting for him to relax before he pounces.  Although it throws him off balance even more, he does as he's told and takes the chair placed in front of the desk.

            AJ studies Harm carefully.  He can see undercurrents of tension that weren't present three years before.  He wonders if it is because of something that may have happened in those three years, because of his new assignment or simply because he is sitting in the same room with a man he broke a promise to—even though it was an unspoken one.  AJ sighs inwardly—he needs to break these new walls he sensed down and locate the man he once trusted with his life.  "Why didn't you come to Headquarters that Monday?" AJ asks suddenly.

            To his credit Harm doesn't flinch at the question.  He knew it would be asked at some point—along with others he's dreading—and a small feeling of relief washes over him as he answers.  "I believe I would have had I been given the chance sir," Harm responds.

            "What does that mean?" AJ asks.

            "It couldn't have been long after we finished speaking that someone knocking on my door woke me, sir.  They had been at it for a while I was told but I was so exhausted it took some time for the sound to permeate my brain…"

***      

            The thumping didn't seem to go with his dream—the crash hadn't sounded like that—was his first semi conscious thought.  As awareness slowly returned he realized the sound was not in his dreams.  He stumbled off the couch and pulled open the door without bothering to check who was there.  His sleep befuddled brain took several long minutes to process who was on the other side of the door and invite him inside.

            "Did I interrupt a nap Commander?" his visitor asked.

            "Sorry sir.  I just got done with debriefing and arrived here a short time ago.  There hasn't been much time for sleep."  His tongue is practically tripping over the words.  And he has no idea what he just said.  He could only hope it came out more intelligently than he fears it did.

            "That's an awfully polite way of telling me I just woke you from the first sleep you've had in quite some time by the looks of things," his visitor commented wryly.

            His brain has begun coordinating between his thoughts and his tongue finally.  "What can I do for you Mr. Secretary?" he asks, hiding a yawn.

            "I have an assignment for you that begins immediately," Secretary Sheffield informed him.

            "Assignment?  Immediately?"  Harm repeats the salient points incredulously.  

            "I understand you resigned your commission.  This is a way for you to remain in the Navy should you choose," the SecNav answered.

            Harm is confused.  Did he dream the conversation with AJ?  He's so tired he can't be positive but he doesn't think that was the case.  "Sir?  I just spoke with Admiral Chegwidden…" he begins but trails off at the look on the SecNav's face.

            "The fact that he didn't process the papers doesn't change anything.  Should you decide not to accept this assignment your resignation will go through.  AJ can do nothing to stop that process."

            Harm was stunned; how did the SecNav find out about his 'resignation' if AJ didn't process it?  He felt as though his brain had stopped functioning.  "Why would you do something like that?" he asked.

            "Because I need your talents somewhere other than JAG Headquarters," Sheffield stated.

            "So it's either work for you or leave the Navy?"

            "And I have a feeling you don't want to give up the Navy."  Sheffield is smug.

            "Admiral Chegwidden pretty much told me the only reason he wouldn't let me go—the only reason I had to submit my resignation in the first place—was he couldn't allow active military personnel into the country," Harm defends himself.  Despite the lack of sleep, he was rapidly becoming more and more alert during the course of this conversation.

            "That may be true but these are the terms under which you may remain.  What will it be?"

            Harm weighed his options—the only reason he resigned was because he wanted to save Mac.  He would have sold his would if it meant making sure she was safe—and it looked like he might still have to.  Or had he already—the sight of Mac kissing Webb after his confession of love slipped into his consciousness—was that the price he was to pay to bring her back?  Maybe not having to see her and be reminded would be a good thing.  Before his sleep deprived brain could come up with an argument against, Harm agreed to the mission.

            Sheffield declined to elaborate what the mission would entail.  He instructed Harm to pack his personal belongings—clothes, pictures, etc. for storage.  They would see his apartment would be taken care of as long as he was gone by making it available fully furnished to a short list of personnel.  Two beefy men had arrived with Sheffield and waited outside the apartment.  With his acceptance of the mission, Sheffield sent them inside to assist Harm in packing.  Harm felt they were moiré babysitters, making sure he followed his new orders—which included no contact—than they were to help him.

            Three hours later the packing was finished, the boxes were on their way to storage, and Harm was on his way to his new assignment, squeezed into the back seat of the government sedan with his two babysitters, fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 4

            Mac isn't sure if she's more angry or relieved.  At first she was just numb—the sight of Harm after no word for three years hit her hard.  Now that she's had some time to ponder the situation she knows she's angry at him for leaving without saying anything after Paraguay but she's also relieved that nothing awful happened to him—or did it?

            Directing her thoughts back to the announcement she rebuilds the moment in her mind.  Shocked as she was, he mind caught details she hadn't consciously register.  She had only glanced at the admiral for a moment but she could see the anger and hurt lurking in his features.  As soon as he'd said the name, she'd scanned the room until she'd located him, striding in the door a moment late as if to make an unforgettable entrance.  There was a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes.  For a moment when he looked out over the room, their eyes met and she could see all the emotions raging in him expressed in that turbulent gaze.  There was fear, anger, hurt and for a brief moment when their eyes met, hope—masked so quickly she wasn't sure until now that she'd actually seen it.  Once he'd looked away, she had studied the rest of him.  He looked tired and worn—the years he was gone aged him to look every one of his 43 years.

            As she studied him further she noticed the leanness of his body and saw the muscles ripple in his arms as when he'd gripped the table for support—it was only his face that looked older.  He'd always been fit, but she suspected he'd been doing a lot of hard physical labor recently—she couldn't see an ounce of fat on his tall frame.  This new level of fitness reminded her of their early time together before he'd really filled out, although she'd have a hard time justifying calling him 'stickboy' now.  

            She dragged her attention away from his flesh to look upon his uniform.  AJ had introduced him as 'Captain Harmon Rabb, Jr.' and she could see the eagles glinting in the lights.  His wings were still displayed proudly above his ribbons, but some of those were unfamiliar on that uniform.  From the back of the room, she couldn't make out the specific ribbons—she'd have to get a closer look to determine what had been added.  It looked like wherever he'd been, he'd been busy.  'But where would that have been?' she wonders.  After trying to find him around DC, she had asked Bud to help her search the Navy personnel database.  They'd come across his resignation—signed, sealed and delivered.  That information doesn't mesh with the image she had seen a few hours before.  And to ask him, she had to find him.  So far she'd come up empty—all the places he usually hung out around on carriers were checked without success.

***

            Sturgis is looking for someone, anyone, to help him locate AJ, Mac or even Harm.  As a submariner he is much more comfortable on the small, enclosed vessels than on this big, open monstrosity.  Everyone, even Tiner, had disappeared after the announcement.  The JAG officers left in the briefing room are clearly uncomfortable telling him they have no idea where his CO, coworker and friend have gone.  He is working his way though the ship, terrorizing the petty officers he runs into with his questions.  Finally he catches a glimpse of Marine green and follows it through the maze of corridors, catching up to Mac when she hesitates outside the admiral's stateroom.

            "Mac, where have you been?" he asks.  Mac looks up abruptly.  "Sorry that didn't come out like I meant.  I've been looking all over for you and the admiral and I'm remembering just why it is I prefer submarines," he apologizes.

            "Sorry Sturgis. I suppose I did leave the briefing a little abruptly.  I'm been looking for Harm, actually.  I want to hear from him why he's had no contact with anyone at JAG for the last three years," Mac admits openly.

            "You still feel the same for him don't you?  Are these his quarters?" 

            Mac ignores the first question.  "No, it's the stateroom the admiral requested when he spoke to Captain McKnight on the bridge."

            "You spoke to the captain?"

            "Well, after I couldn't find Harm in any of his usual hiding places I figured I'd check with Admiral Chegwidden and see if he knew where his new Fleet JAG went."

            "For a Marine you sure know your way around a carrier," Sturgis jokes.  "I was lost in less than 5 minutes."

            The ghost of a smile flits across Mac's face.  "I had a good guide for years," she replies softly.

            Sturgis changes the subject.  "You know, the admiral looked almost shell-shocked when he made that announcement.  He pretty much chucked Bud and Tiner's speech.  I don't think he has any idea where Harm has been all this time.  I guess I always thought he knew where he was."

            "I never thought that.  He was genuinely frustrated when Harm didn't report that Monday morning…"

***

            For AJ the weekend seemed to crawl.  By the time Monday morning rolled around he was like a kid at Christmas, up way before he needed to be, keyed up with anticipation.  Although Harm had left under less than ideal terms, he was confident the senior attorney would return to the Navy and JAG.

            He hadn't wanted to let him go in the first place; the only reason he hadn't put up more than a token protest was Harm seemed so certain Mac was in danger—and they had disappeared from sight.  If anyone had a chance of locating and rescuing Mac, if need be, it was Harm.  By forcing him to turn in his resignation AJ had an official document he could file in case something went wrong.  By holding the resignation he was maintaining not only Harm's place at JAG but also his standing in the Navy.  Now that Harm had returned safely (with Mac and Webb) AJ wanted to tear up the resignation, but he felt he should wait and talk to Harm first.  There was always the possibility that the younger Man had finally revealed his feelings for his partner and would choose not to remain in the Navy because of the fraternization issues.  Should he wish to return and pursue a relationship with Mac, AJ was prepared to call in every favor available to him to keep both lawyers at JAG.

            He arrived at the office at 0530, unable to find anything more around his house to occupy his mind.  He made a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup and closed his office door behind him.  There was a rather large stack of paperwork he'd been putting off—he used the time to make a large dent in the pile.

            The quiet stillness of the early morning hours gradually lengthened into a typical working Monday.  Staff trickled in comparing notes on the weekend.  AJ could tell the moment Mac entered the bullpen.  The increasing volume of the background noise abruptly terminated, leaving an almost surreal quiet once again.  And then there was even more noise as the personnel welcomed back one of their lost sheep.  AJ had already spoken to Mac on Sunday after giving her a chance to recover from the return from Paraguay.  He was expecting her at staff call at 0900, a preliminary report due at that time.

            After the initial clamor over Mac's return, the volume in the bullpen descended once again to normal levels.  Although speculation about Harm's resignation flew around the room, it was done quietly out of deference to Mac.  Sturgis, Bud, Harriet, Tiner and even Coates each stopped by Mac's office to welcome her back privately.  Each of them wanted to ask about Harm but none of them broached the subject.

            0800 came and went without notice.  AJ was distracted by the files he was reading and didn't notice the deadline passing.  It was only when Tiner reminded him it was nearly time for staff call that he realized how late it was.  He forced himself not to let any disappointment show through staff call, beginning by officially welcoming Mac back and proceeding to hand out cases.  Still no one asked about Harm—they couldn't bring themselves to open that particular can of worms quite yet.  By the time staff call was over, AJ was growing quite agitated with his former senior attorney.  He chose to make an attempt to reach Harm—he'd been certain even if he'd made the decision to leave the Navy, Harm would still have come out to JAG to talk to him—but the phone just rang and rang.  

            Morning slid into early afternoon.  At 1430, AJ called Mac into his office.  "You wanted to see me sir?" 

            "Have a seat Colonel," AJ offered.  This was to be an informal chat, he took the other chair—the one he so often thought of as 'Harm's' chair.  "Did you hear from Rabb this weekend?" he asked deciding to be blunt.

            Mac was startled—Harm wasn't on an assignment?  "No sir.  The last I saw him was when we were shown into separate rooms to debrief.  I tried calling when I got home but he apparently wasn't there yet—and he didn't return my call."

            "Since it was after midnight when he called me, I would say he didn't want to call and wake you," AJ surmised with a small smile.

            Mac was even more confused.  "May I ask why he called you at such an hour?"  

            "I wanted to give him a chance to rescind his resignation."  Mac looked blankly at him and understanding dawned.  "You didn't know he resigned to go after you."  It was more of a statement than a question.

            "Somehow it never came up.  Why exactly did he resign?"

            "I couldn't allow him to go after you.  Conning him into submitting his resignation was the only way he could go with the ban on active military personnel in the country.  It was much easier than I thought it would be.  I called to let him know I hadn't submitted the paperwork and he still had a place here if he wanted it.  I was under the impression when I spoke to him that he would be here at 0800 to discuss the details."

            "Maybe he's still asleep.  I know neither of us got much sleep after the crash and although I was able to sleep until we were captured by Sadik, Harm did mention he hadn't had much—if any—for several nights."

            "That explains why he looked so haggard before he left here.  I did try calling his place already," AJ admitted.  "I also thought he might have overslept, but come to think of it, his answering machine didn't pick up either."

            "Well, one time something like this happened, Palmer left him sitting on a bomb.  Maybe someone should go over and check on him," Mac suggested.

            AJ remembered that day vividly.  "You could be right—although I don't think that would be a pleasant alternative.  Are you volunteering?"

            Uncertainty kicked in quickly and Mac squashed it just as fast.  "I can do that.  I'll check when I get there," she replied, holding up her cell.  "Did you try his cell phone?" she asked.

            AJ opened a desk drawer and handed her an item.  "He left it behind—it's JAG issue," he reminded her.  

            "I've gotten so used to having them around I completely forgot.  I'll head out now," she said and barely waited to be dismissed before hurrying out of the office.  

***

            "I'll bet that wasn't pleasant," Harm comments.  "I was told someone moved in the day I left, but she hadn't planned on using the land line even though it was already connected."

            "You'd have to ask Colonel MacKenzie about that.  She didn't give me any details, just said you had moved out—disappeared."

            "I'm not sure that's a conversation that will ever happen," Harm states morosely.  "I wanted to call you, her, anyone, to let you know what had happened but those guys were with me 24/7.  The only calls I could make were to my mom and Frank, and all I could tell them was I was on an assignment and not at JAG anymore.  I couldn't even leave them a number where they could reach me in case of an emergency."

            "That would explain why they didn't call looking for you," AJ says thoughtfully.  "When did you finally ditch your bodyguards?"

            "Let's just say they're probably tearing apart the ship looking for me.  I had the advantage of home turf and used it on the way down here," Harm smiles, for the first time letting the emotion reach his eyes.

            AJ does his best to hide a smirk.  He's not entirely successful, although he does swallow the laugh that threatens to burst out—his troublesome former officer hasn't changed a bit.  "How long do you think it'll be before they find you?"

            Harm glances at his watch.  "The rest of the team should be back from leave shortly.  They'll pool resources and find me sooner or later…probably sooner though," he admits heavily.

            "They still keep close tabs on you?"

            "I'm not sure if it's more habit or not.  Everywhere I've gone in the last three years has been with them glued to my six; except for the times I was flying.  The one time I got diverted they were waiting for me when I finished debriefing."

            "And what did they do when you were on leave?"

            "Actually I haven't taken any leave.  I didn't feel there was any point in dragging out things.  The SecNav did make it clear once I completed what they deemed was necessary training and completed an unspecified number of tasks using that training, I'd be allowed to choose where I wanted my career to go."

            "So you chose Fleet JAG?" AJ asks.  He hadn't even known the position was in the works, regardless of the recommendations he had presented, with the help of the man sitting in front of him.

            "Not exactly sir.  He came to me and told me he had the perfect assignment for me but he wouldn't tell me what it was.  Early this morning I received a call instructing me to report ASAP.  I arrived to find Sheffield waiting for me.  He led me through the oath, handed me some files and told me the helo would take me to my new assignment and the files would explain the assignment.  And then he informed me my team knew where to find me," Harm reports bleakly.  "All this time I believe my team knew more than I did."

            Whatever response or question AJ is about to utter, he doesn't get the chance.  With barely a knock of 'courtesy' two of the largest men AJ has ever seen barrel through the door, their sights set on Harm.


	5. Chapter 5

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 5

            "What is the meaning of this?" AJ thunders.  

            The two men have practically lifted Harm from the chair and they're now herding him toward the door where a stunned Mac and Sturgis are looking on.  "Sorry Admiral," one of the behemoths says although he doesn't sound apologetic.  "Captain Rabb has a call from the SecNav and he's already been waiting 15 minutes while we were trying to find him," he explains with reproach in his voice.

            "Sir, I'll have to talk to you later—I'd completely forgotten about this call," Harm lies trying to deflect AJ's attention so he can get him out of the line of fire.  He really has no idea what Sheffield wants now, but it's a good bet he'll chew his ear off for ditching his shadows.  He squares his shoulders and steps out the door, only to have to sidestep quickly or run over Mac and Sturgis.  

            His escort however, isn't as agile.  No wanting to give Harm the chance to lose them again they barrel out the door as quickly as they entered, knocking both officers off their feet.  Had it been anyone else, Harm would have laughed.  Instead he reached down to offer Mac a hand to her feet.  To his dismay she ignores the hand and jumps to her feet, snapping to attention as she does so, her gaze fixed on the wall somewhere behind him.  Sturgis is only a millisecond behind her.  "Sir," they both snap out.

            Harm looks with sadness at his former friends and colleagues.  "At ease," he instructs despondently.  They take his words at face value and stand at parade rest—much like he did with AJ.  "I'm still Harm," he says softly and walks away without any further prodding from anyone but his conscience.  He keeps his head high, although he feels like a knife has been stuck in his heart and twisted—will his friends ever forgive him for leaving to take the SecNav's one chance to stay in the Navy?  Will he ever get the chance to explain it to them?

            Harm heads toward the CIC, only to be stopped by a restraining hand on his shoulder.  "What is it now?" he asks without looking back.

            The two men actually look a bit sheepish.  Aptly named Jerry Titan and Jack Hercules, sheepish is not something they do well.  "He's waiting in your quarters, sir," Jerry tells him.  Jack removes his hand from Harm's arm and they both back up for Harm to get around them.  They like their immediate CO; they don't like having to keep tabs on him all the time.  It was just bad luck that Sheffield arrived on board at the same time they lost Harm in the maze of corridors.  A short conversation with the captain and Sheffield had a good idea where Harm had gone.  He sent J and J—as they are called by the rest of the team—out to bring back his recalcitrant officer.

             As they turn the corner to Harm's quarters, a lieutenant comes hurtling down the corridor toward them.  He skids to a stop in front of Harm's door and knocks.  From down the hall, Harm calls out.  "Are you looking for me, Lieutenant Masters?"

            Masters' eyes grow large when, before he can turn to address Harm, the door opens to reveal the SecNav.  "Yes sir," he stutters, turning toward Harm.  "The skipper wants you on the bridge ASAP," he chokes out.  

            Harm barely spares a glance for Sheffield as he hurries past.  Upon his arrival earlier in the day, McKnight had confided in Harm, telling him his pilots were stretched too thin and flying missions in an unstable region.  In the past few days, there had been several incidents with enemy pilots, but so far no shots had been fired.  It seemed they were playing with the pilots from the carrier, seeing how far they could push before they were pushed back.  Dread speared through Harm's soul as he thought of the men and women up in the air, he is sure the summons is tied to the incidents.  He arrives on the bridge, not surprised to see the CAG deep in conversation with the skipper.

            He snaps to attention and salutes before his brain catches up with his reflexes.  McKnight returns the salute with a smile and beckons Harm to join him and the CAG.  "Do you always bring an entourage?" the CAG, Captain Browning, asks.

            Harm turns his head to make sense of the question and finds Lt. Masters, Jack, Jerry and the SecNav have followed him onto the bridge.  His face reddens, "I didn't realize they were behind me."

            "The short one's the SecNav, isn't it?" McKnight asks.  "What's he doing here?"

            "I didn't have time to find out, but he was looking for me," Harm admits.  

            "Have him join us.  We could use his input on the situation," Browning suggests.

            "What situation is that?" Sheffield queries, startling all three men who didn't see him approach.

            "For the last several days my pilots have been harassed by unknown aircraft.  Up until now, it's been more chasing them around than anything else.  Now they're holding them in place, not allowing them to return to the ship.  Shortly, their fuel will pass the point of no return and they won't be able to make it back to the ship.  I want to send Captain Rabb out there with the last of my available pilots," Browning explains.

            "Why Rabb?  Why don't you go yourself?" Sheffield asks.

            Browning pats his left knee.  "I missed a step the other day; I won't be flying for a few weeks."

            "I'll do it," Harm offers before Sheffield can ask any more questions and delay his escape, if only for a short time.

            "My Tomcat is waiting for you, but I don't have a RIO available."

            Harm waves off his concern; he's flown without a RIO before.  "How long do those pilots have?"

            "Just about long enough for you to get there and send them home.  You'll be flying with the section sent to relieve them.   They're all ready and waiting."

            "No pressure then," Harm jokes.  "Don't worry, I'll get them all home safely," he promises.  "Sir, I'll talk to you when I get back," he says to the SecNav and is gone before he can protest.

            ***

            "What just happened, sir?" Mac asks AJ as they watch Harm's retreating back.

            "Come in, both of you, and have a seat."  He waits until they are both seated—Mac in the chair Harm just vacated and Sturgis on the bunk—before offering an explanation.  "I asked Captain Rabb to see me here after the briefing.  We've been discussing his departure from DC.  Colonel, Mac, why don't you tell us what happened when you went to check on Harm that Monday afternoon…"

            ***

            Mac pulled into the parking lot at Harm's apartment and spotted his SUV.  With a sigh of relief and a bit of frustration she entered the building.  Her frustration grew on the way up the stairs—the elevator was broken again.  

            Everything looked normal when she arrived at Harm's floor.  She knocked softly and then a bit louder when she didn't get a response.  Once again met with silence, she used her key to let herself into the apartment.  Mac could see the changes immediately:  in place of the picture of Harm and his father stood a vase of fresh flowers; a large television set dominated the living room area; the rest of the apartment had a decidedly feminine touch.  She whirled around at the sound of the door opening behind her.

            "What are you doing in my apartment?" the blonde demanded.

            Mac took in the uniform and noted the insignia of the collar of the woman's khaki shirt.  "Lieutenant, I'm Lt. Colonel MacKenzie of JAG.  I was looking for Commander Rabb.  Do you know where she is?" she replied calmly.

            "Why would you be looking for this Commander Rabb in my apartment?" the blonde lieutenant fumed.

            "This is HIS apartment," Mac stated.

            "I signed a year lease for this place yesterday," the girl informed her, only slightly less defensive.

            "On a Sunday?" Mac could not help but be suspicious.

            "I just transferred back to the states from Germany.  I needed a place to live and my CO recommended this place because it was furnished.  I'll admit it's more of a bachelor pad, but it'll do until I finish my year here—I'm hoping to head home to San Diego next."

            "Did anyone mention where the former tenant went?"

            "No, although the neighbors seemed awfully curious when I started carrying my boxes in, none of them seemed to know anything.  Look Colonel, I'm sorry I can't help you any more but I just got off duty and need to grab a nap.  It's obvious to me you knew this mystery guy but I don't know anything, so will you please go?"

            Mac handed her a card.  "If you happen to hear anything I'd appreciate a phone call," she said.  She exited the apartment and building with more questions than she arrived with.  She called to check in with the admiral then decided to check one more place before she headed back to JAG.


	6. Chapter 6

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 6

            "You were checking on his Corvette, weren't you?" Sturgis asks.

            "Yeah.  I didn't think he'd leave without it.  The guy who runs the garage said someone had stopped by and paid for an entire year that morning, and had told him they would be moving another vehicle in soon.  He couldn't recall who paid the rent—I think he'd had a little too much to drink the night before," she says.

            AJ fills them in on what he learned from Harm—which really isn't much.  Mac immediately feels remorse for her actions towards Harm earlier.  She had assumed he'd run away; now she finds he left only because he had no choice.  Sure he could have stayed in DC and found a job, but the Navy was—and is—his life.  She couldn't imagine him doing anything else.

            "Do you have any idea what he's been doing for the last three years?" she asks.

            "Only that he's undergone extensive training, flown several times and is apparently the head of a team of undisclosed number doing who knows what," AJ remarks exasperatedly.

            "We came up blank before when we tried to access his file in the naval database; he's out in the open again, do you think we might be able to gather more information this time?" Sturgis suggests.

            "Here is the copy of his personnel file I was given before the briefing."  AJ hands the file to Mac.  "As you can see, just about every entry has been censored."

            "Perhaps Webb could get us an unedited version," Mac offers hesitantly.  "He seemed as baffled as we did when Harm disappeared."

            "Give it a try Mac.  Who knows what that spook might turn up," AJ agrees.  "For now we'll keep this between the four of us…if Webb can't get us any information, we'll contact Lt. Roberts to do an extensive database search."  His thoughts drift back to Webb as the others head out to gather information.  The CIA agent has been pretty scarce in the past three years.  After the mission in Paraguay, he'd been in contact a time or two but AJ no longer had to worry about him conscripting his people—the SecNav had cut off all access to naval personnel except those in Intelligence for CIA missions.

            ***

            Harm changes in record time and hurries to the flight deck.  He conducts a quick but thorough check of the Tomcat, climbs aboard and readies himself for his flight.  He's up on the catapult in a matter of minutes and in the air shortly after that.  Three other F-14's take to the air and the four aircraft streak toward their imperiled comrades, Harm in the lead.

            As soon as his section appears on their radar, the unknown planes break off.  The detained section thanks them for their assistance and immediately heads back to the carrier; they're almost at bingo fuel.  Once they're clear, the four remaining fighters begin a search for the aggressors.  Commander Kenning gave Harm a direction before he departed, now Harm instructs Bait and Red to run a course parallel to he and Ghost for their search.  

            There is no sight of the other planes—it's almost as if they disappeared into thin air.  Harm is about to order them back to the carrier when he receives a call from Browning.  "Captain Rabb, this is the CAG.  What is your status?" 

            "We've been unable to locate the hostiles.  We're heading back to the carrier now," he reports.  

            "Negative.  There's a storm between you and us, heading directly for us."  He rattles off a set of coordinates.  "A tanker will rendezvous with you at these coordinates.  Continue with your search until the storm clears."

            "Any idea when that might be?" Harm asks; he's beginning to feel the effects of his morning travel along with the emotional drain from seeing his former colleagues again and isn't sure he'll be effective much longer.  Fatigue is beginning to overtake the adrenaline he's been running on.

            "The storm is too unstable to predict.  We've suspended all flight operations until it clears.  I know this wasn't a planned flight so none of you are in the best shape to continue this patrol, but with the weather we're experiencing here it's not safe to return to the carrier.  If the fatigue is too much, I suggest heading to one of our bases inland."

            The thought of giving up is not something Harm is about to give in to.  He wills his fatigue away and vows to continue the search until they are able to return to the carrier.  In the last three years, Harmon Rabb has not given up and he's not about to start now.  "I'd like to continue with the search; I'll check with the others," he tells the CAG.  The consensus is they all want to finish the mission; Harm relays the news back to the carrier.

            "Understood.  God speed."

            Harm and the others head for their rendezvous with the tanker.  Harm fuels first, followed by Ghost, Bait then Red.  "I'm not reading any change in our fuel state," Red reports.  "I'm gonna back off and try again."  From where he's keeping station with the tanker, Harm watches the maneuver.  "There must be a problem on my end; I'm still not reading any changes," she reports a short time later.  

            "Red, Bait, I want the two of you to head inland and find an airfield able to handle a couple of Tomcats," Harm instructs.

            Zip, Red's RIO, almost laughs when the petite redhead lets loose with a string of inventive curses—she's more than unhappy that they can't continue the mission—and she's quite frankly pissed off at it happening in front of the legendary Harmon Rabb.  Meekly she replies, "aye, sir."

            "Lt. Baitwithe, keep an eye out for those fighters.  I wouldn't put it past them to come out of hiding now that we're splitting up," Harm instructs Bait.  He receives a confirmation and the two aircraft soon disappear from sight.

            As soon as they are gone, Harm's premonition comes true—or at least halfway.  The mystery planes are back, but they aren't headed after Bait and Red.  They have Harm and Ghost in their sights; and let's face it, eight on two are unfair odds whatever way you look at it.

            ***

            "Admiral on the bridge," someone announces when AJ enters the bridge.  He ignores the stares of the officers at their posts and makes a beeline to the captain.

            The captain and CAG are in a discussion when he approaches; they hadn't heard his presence announced.  "Captain McKnight, I'd like a word with you," AJ states, interrupting the two men.  McKnight looks ready to ream out the interrupter; his mouth opens but no sound issues forth when he sees who it is.

            "What can I do for you Admiral?" he asks after a moment.

            "I'm looking for Captain Rabb.  We were interrupted earlier and I'd like to finish our conversation before the COD leaves.  I've not had any luck finding anyone who knows where he is."

            McKnight and Browning exchange a quick look. "Sir, Captain Rabb is flying," Browning reports nervously.

            "He still can't keep out of a cockpit, can he?" AJ mutters.  "When do you expect him back?"

            As if on cue a bolt of lightning flashes, a clap of thunder sounds and the light drizzle of the last couple of hours suddenly turns into a downpour.  "As soon as this weather system passes us."

            Memories of another stormy night when Harm is flying prompts AJ's next question.  "He's not flying IN this, is he?"

            "No sir.  At most he'll go through the very edge of the storm; they just can't return to the carrier until after it has passed.  We've shut down flight operations until it does so."

            'Which is a polite way of telling me I'm not going anywhere either,' AJ thinks.  "How long is this storm going to last?" he asks.

            "At best, two hours; at worst…longer than that," Browning responds.  "We sent Rabb up because of a passive threat to a section of Tomcats on patrol.  I don't believe any of those crews have had enough sleep to sustain them through an extended mission, but we didn't really have a choice in the matter."

            "No matter when the storm clears up, the COD won't be heading out until morning," McKnight puts in.  "I hope that will give you enough time to track him down for your talk."

            AJ takes note of the wording of the captain's comment.  "You're familiar with Rabb, aren't you?" he laughs.

            "Quite," the skipper agrees.

            AJ prepares to leave the men to their earlier discussion.  His attention is diverted from his course when a petty officer hurries up to the CAG.

            "CAG, sir," she stammers.

            "Take a deep breath petty officer, then tell me what has you so agitated," Browning orders gently.  AJ has to smile, she reminds him of a wet behind the ears Lt. (jg) Bud Roberts many years ago.

            She gulps in one breath, exhales quickly.  It must have helped some but didn't do the job completely; she does so again, this time a bit slower.  "Sir, Lt. O'Hara wasn't able to take on any fuel.  Captain Rabb sent her and Lt. Baitwithe to find an airfield able to receive them inland.  He and Lt. Ralins are going to finish the patrol," she reports.

            "Have they found any sign of where the other planes went?" McKnight asks.

            "No sir.  The captain warned them to be careful that they didn't run into them since they've split up."

            "How could they have just disappeared?" McKnight wonders under his breath.

            Whatever answer the petty officer is going to offer the muttered rhetorical question is drowned out by a voice calling across the bridge, "Skipper, I think you need to hear this," followed by a burst of static, then voices.

            AJ, Browning, McKnight and the bridge crew listen intently to a conversation between two pilots.  The transmission is a bit garbled by static caused by the storm, but eventually they make out Harm's and Ghost's voices.  Their voices paint a visual each of those on the bridge can follow.  The frustration in the voices conveys the seriousness of the situation.  When things deteriorate, it is Harm's voice that reassures not only his wingman but also those on the bridge.  Through it all he remains calm, the voice of reason among tense listeners until another burst of static drowns out his voice and the rest of the engagement.  The storm has come full upon the ship and cut the link to the pilots, leaving each of the listeners wondering just what the outcome will be.


	7. Chapter 7

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 7

            From the beginning of the encounter it's obvious to Harm that the pilots are relative novices either at flying or flying that particular aircraft.  The aircraft themselves are unfamiliar to Harm until he contemplates the aircraft from countries not in the Middle East.  "Ghost, do you have any idea what type of aircraft these are?" he asks.  

            "No sir, but I take it you do?"

            "If my memory serves me correctly, these are Fencers—Sukhoi Su-19.  They're Russian aircraft, but I suppose that doesn't mean too much considering the Russians have been selling off just about everything they own."

            "Do you know anything about their capabilities?"

            "They have a longer range and higher ceiling than we do," Harm admits.  Up to this point the Fencers have just been a nuisance by keeping Harm and Ghost on the path they have chosen; now they've started to try and alter their course.  Suddenly one of the planes dives into Harm's flight path and only his quick reflexes keep the two aircraft from colliding.  "I don't think their pilots are very experienced though.  Hopefully we can outfly them without any problems."

            Very soon it becomes apparent that the inexperience of the pilots is going to be more of a problem than he originally expected.  Several close calls later Harm suggests splitting up.

            "What good is that going to do?" Ghost asks.

            "Keep us from running into one another for starters."  Ghost is an adequate pilot on his second tour; he doesn't have the talent or experience to pull off the more daring maneuvers, and more than once Harm has had to make a quick adjustment to keep from colliding with his own wingman.  

            A not so sudden move by Harm has two of the Fencers brushing one another in their haste to avoid impact.  One of the aircraft wobbles a bit and resumes its place in whatever pattern—if any—they have going.  The second aircraft spirals out of control and impacts with the ground.  "Good move sir," Ghost enthuses.  "Why can't we just disable all of their aircraft?" he asks.

            "We didn't get to be where we are today by being the first to fire and I'm not going to start now.  That was an accident I hope to not repeat," Harm explains.  He'd simply been avoiding another collision when he caught the two pilots off guard.  

            The loss of one of their own has enraged the remaining pilots.  Although it was not his fault, Harm has now been pegged as the more dangerous of the two aircraft.  Unbeknownst to either Harm or Ghost, the foreign pilots have been given new orders—bring Harm down no matter the cost—they want this one alive.  When the orders are received, the focus shifts from both aircraft to almost completely ignoring Ghost.  Harm instructs his wingman to get clear while he has the chance.  

            "They're gunning for you sir.  I can't leave you behind."

            "Yes you can.  They're going to have a hard time of it if they aren't using weapons, which it appears they are not prepared to do.  The best thing you can do for me now is to get clear so I don't have you to worry about as well."

            "But sir…" Ghost begins to argue.

            Harm cuts him off.  "Lieutenant although you are a fair pilot, you do not have the experience necessary to aid me.  In fact, you are currently more of a hindrance than asset.  I need you to get yourself clear so you don't bring the both of us down," he tells Ghost bluntly, regretting the necessity of tearing the other man down.

            A sullen, "Aye sir," is given before Ghost does as he asks.  Ghost is allowed unrestricted passage from the immediate area.  He gets himself clear but remains in the area to be able to report the outcome of the grossly unfair situation.  

            Time seems to stretch forever as he watches Harm do his best to avoid the seven aircraft swarming around him.  He notes that his departure has not only allowed Harm to concentrate on his own survival, but it has also removed the annoyance of his presence from the other pilot's minds.  He forces himself to admit he would have never been able to keep up with some of the moves he observes—and that he wouldn't have even thought of half of them at all.  The Fencer pilots are having trouble with keeping up as well, but outnumbered as Harm is, they manage to just barely keep him heading where they want him to go.  Eventually, however, the various strains on Harm become apparent, his reactions get slower and in avoiding one collision he turns directly into another.  The wing of the other aircraft smashes into his canopy, shattering it.  His instinctive reaction puts him into a shallow dive in just the direction his opponents want him to go.  

            Harm avoids berating himself for his lapse; his concentration is required to locate a suitable place to put the Tomcat down.  The soft dunes finally give way to a flat, solid looking expanse that might have—at one time—served as a roadway.  This is what he aims for, circling slightly to come down at one end of the clearing, hoping it is large enough to make the landing safely.

            From his vantage point, Ghost watches as Harm chooses his landing strip and expertly sets the aircraft down.  He receives a short transmission burst and his respect for the man outweighs the hurt felt by the harsh words from earlier as he realizes Harm knows he is still there and has taken the time to transmit his coordinates.  Unable to tear his gaze away, he watches the Tomcat come to a complete stop.  He is too far away to see if anything is happening on the ground, but it is only a couple of minutes later that one of the Fencers dives out of formation.  Ghost watches in horror as it gets dangerously close to the Tomcat which suddenly turns into a fireball, taking the diving Fencer with it.


	8. Chapter 8

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 8   

Mac, AJ, Sturgis and Tiner are in the officer's wardroom, each ignoring the cooling cup of coffee sitting in front of them.  They are trying to work, however the mention of Harm's name by someone else in the room sends them each into their won thoughts concerning their former—and in a way current—colleague.

            The noisy arrival of a pair of officers breaks into Mac's thoughts.  It only takes a moment for her to place where she's seen them before—they were part of the team who rescued her a little over a year ago.  Although she'll never forget that incident, what sticks out most in her mind is her failure to speak with the team commander.  He was always too busy, asleep, or in a meeting the entire two days she was on the ship.  Deciding she still wishes to convey her thanks she approaches the two.  AJ and the others rouse from their reverie when she leaves the table—they watch with interest when she approaches the sailors, wondering what they've done that is going to get them a Marine chewing-out.

            "Lt. Commander Duncan, Lieutenant Sharpe; it's good to see you again."

            The two officers jump to attention.  "Ma'am."

            "At ease, relax."  She motions for them to sit and she joins them.  "I saw you here and wanted to once again express my gratitude for last year.  Is Commander Post around?  I'd still like to thank him personally."

            Duncan and Sharpe exchange a quick glance noticed by Mac.  "Sorry ma'am, we're not sure where he is right now.  We just returned from leave," Duncan answers.  They do know where their commander is—although not ibwhere/i/b he is—but are not at liberty to divulge that information.  

            "You haven't checked in yet?" she asks, angry with their nonchalant attitudes.

            "Yes ma'am, we have," Sharpe answers defensively.  "We aren't due back on duty for another eight hours but we have checked in."

            "How could you do that if you don't know where he is?" Mac challenges.

            "We reported in to his CO, who told us we were not on duty until morning.  We thought we'd relax here, but you are not allowing us to do so," Sharpe retorts.  

            Duncan steps in before anything nastier can be said.  "Colonel, can I take a message to him for you?"

            Mac clamps down on her temper.  Duncan's calmness in the face of Sharpe's anger has made her remember that these men were nothing short of perfectly disciplined when she dealt with them before; her attitude is causing theirs.  Although a small voice whispers in the back of her mind that they're hiding something, Mac lets them off the hook.  "Thank you.  I really would like the opportunity to speak to him personally before I leave."

            "We'll pass that along, Colonel," Duncan promises.

            With the hope in her mind that she will finally meet the man who personally rescued her a year earlier—then disappeared before she could say anything—Mac makes her way back to the table where AJ, Sturgis and Tiner are still sitting.  The intense stares of AJ and Sturgis are fixed behind her as she approaches—she turns to see what they're looking at, only to be rewarded with the sight of the two behemoths from earlier in earnest conversation with the two officers she just left.  All of a sudden a hidden memory returns and she realizes she's seen the two before—on the ship after the rescue.  "Sir I have a thought…" she begins, turning to AJ.

            ***

            The landing in the field is rough.  Unlike the clearing where he had landed 'Sarah' many years before, the ground is soft and pliable, grabbing at the landing gear of the aircraft and threatening to spin it out of control.  He skids more than rolls to a stop, immediately popping the canopy and releasing his harness in one quick motion.  He exits the aircraft, not bothering with the ladder as the ground is soft, rolls to his feet and hurries away from the Tomcat.  

            Though his gear is cumbersome, hot and slowing him down a bit, Harm doesn't want to take the time to shed the excess weight until he's clear of the area.  The Tomcat is like a bright sign, it won't take long for unfriendlies to find him if he sticks around.  He isn't very far from the Tomcat when one of the enemy planes dives down in a strafing run, flying straight toward him.  Luck is with him as the inexperienced pilot miscalculates and overshoots the intended target…or so Harm believes until the Tomcat explodes behind him a moment later.  The force of the blast spreads much more rapidly than Harm can run—even were he unhampered by his gear—overtaking him almost immediately and flinging him roughly to the ground.  A second explosion sounds, and only later will Harm realize the sound was that of the attacking plane caught in the fireball that was his Tomcat. 

            Harm is pressed further into the ground as around—and over—him debris from the two aircraft rain down, their fiery pieces searing where they land on his clothes or skin.  His back is mostly protected from the barrage, however a large piece imbeds itself into his shoulder and several others take up residence in the back of his legs.  Fortunately Harm feels nothing; though still wearing his helmet, his meeting with the ground is forceful, sending his consciousness on retreat before it can make any acknowledgement of his injuries.


	9. Chapter 9

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 9

            It could be the heat of the sun, sand or fire behind him that wakes him up; his first thought is of unbearable heat.  He moves to sit up, but his left arm won't respond.  Working only with his right, he manages to push himself to a sitting position and remove his helmet.  Awkwardly he unhooks his gear, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud.  Only then does he take a look at his unresponsive arm, grimacing at the dark stain on his suit, but thankful it isn't any larger.

            Now clad only in his flight suit, Harm checks the rest of his equipment.  His sidearm is intact, which is more than he can say for the rest of his gear.  Anticipating the worst from the holes in the chute, he carefully runs his hand down the back of his legs.  He finds only one piece of shrapnel has broken the skin, the rest, except for the piece in his shoulder of course, have dotted the less protected areas with small burns.  The burns will be a relatively minor annoyance, the shrapnel in his leg will probably give him some problems, but his main worry is his useless left arm—should he be found by the wrong people, he won't have much chance of fighting his way to freedom.

            All of this takes just a couple of minutes.  Harm staggers to his feet and looks behind him at the wreck of his borrowed Tomcat.  There's not much left of the aircraft; the pilot must have hit some of the ordinance hung under his wing in his strafing run.  The Sukoi is a short distance farther; it is more intact but also burning merrily.  He wonders briefly what action the other pilots may take in retribution for the death of another of their own and belatedly realizes he doesn't hear them.

            Harm shades his eyes and looks into the sky.  He can't see any aircraft in any direction, as far as he can tell they've all disappeared again.  He decides to engage in a little misdirection; he starts back towards the burning aircraft, his intent to skirt around them and head in the opposite direction to the one he was originally headed.  They probably relayed his position before leaving the area; the soft sands will swallow his footprints whichever way he chooses, making it more difficult for anyone to realize he is not on the path they anticipate.  The largest unknown is where those searchers might come from—for all he knows, he's headed directly for whatever forces they've mustered to look for him.

            The shifting sands may hide his footprints, but they also make the trek more difficult.  At first the piece of metal in his right calf makes the journey highly uncomfortable.  After a few hours it is throbbing incessantly and he is completely exhausted from battling his way through the difficult terrain.  His shoulder, thankfully, is mostly numb and although still useless, it's not causing his pace to slacken.

            He's not sure just how long he's been walking when he catches sight of the tents in the distance.  His throat is dry, his entire body aches and he's moving more out of sheer determination to avoid whomever may—or may not—be following him than because he wants to.  As he gets closer, he sees a sight that cheers him greatly—one of the tents has a large red cross on it, signifying—he hopes at least—possible medical personnel within.

            It is a great risk, but Harm feels he has no other choice.  Once he has seen the tent it seems his body has decided that it is the only place it will consent to travel to.  There are several people about—moving around what seems to be a semi-permanent encampment with several tents other than the one he is on autopilot for.  Fatigue and the need for treatment—his journey has not been smooth and he's been able to feel the blood seeping from both wounds for a while—overrules the instinct to stay away from any people until he knows who his enemies are.  'What are the odds that I'll walk into a camp of them when I haven't seen anyone on the way here?' he reasons.  It is with that thought in mind that he finally makes it to the medical tent, enters and begs for help.

            ***

            "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" a stunned AJ asks Mac.  "Tiner, see where they're going," he orders the confused Lieutenant as the foursome hurriedly exits the wardroom.

            "Had I thought much about it before, maybe the name would have tipped me off—Gunnery Sergeant Post is the name he used when we were investigating Captain Koonan.  Whoever dreamt this up had to have known—or been told—about that."

            "And Harm probably had orders not to reveal who he was to anyone, so he kept dodging your attempts to talk to him," Sturgis muses.

            "That is an interesting theory, but how do we prove it?" AJ queries.

            Tiner returns to the table in the silence following the question.  "Sir, they went into a room a short way down the corridor," he reports.  "I saw several others including the captain and CAG enter as well."

            "AJ stands up and gestures for the others to follow.  "I think we'll just have to crash their meeting," he says.


	10. Chapter 10

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 10

            He doesn't find quite what he is hoping for.  The tent is old, worn and patched in many places.  It had been inadvertently left behind years before, changing hands many times.  The current owner received it as payment for some service or another and set it up to protect the females in his extended family as they gathered water at the small spring he stumbled across after a particularly fierce sandstorm.

            There are only a few people in the tent when Harm staggers in—one man (wearing red), two women (green, blue) and a half dozen children with the tribe; two men (brown, black) and a woman (gray) who are obviously foreigners.  The man in red is watching over the man in brown as he treats one of the children, the woman in blue also looking on.  The woman in green is with the rest of the children a short way away, listening to the woman in gray speak, the man in black by her side.  This is what Harm notes in the moment he enters the tent, right before he collapses into a heap.

            The activity in the tent halts abruptly.  "Get your father," the man in red says to the oldest child.  That seems to break the spell and everyone begins to move at once.  The blue and green clad women gather the remaining children and herd them from the tent, while the three men carefully pick Harm up off the ground and carry him to the pile of blankets the woman in gray is laying out.  By the time they have him settled, it is clear the youngster has completed his task.  A man wearing tan bordered in gold enters the tent.  

            "Are you going to help him?" the newcomer asks the man in brown, a doctor.  This man is the leader of the tribe and he speaks English with precision.

            "With your permission," the doctor responds.  He is a guest in the other man's camp—it would be wrong to not ask, although he intends to help either way.

            The leader studies his unexpected guest.  The sunburn on Harm's face and hands and the tattered flight suit tells he was unprepared to face the conditions of the area he landed in.  "Where is he from?"

            "My country, the United States—Navy I would guess," the doctor answers.  He offers more information when the leader says nothing.  "His name is Harmon Rabb Jr.  He's a Commander."  Harm had kept one of his flight patches with his gear throughout the 3+ years he's been with his team.  He always left it behind in favor of one with his 'cover' name, but he felt the risk of it being found was slim and he liked carrying a piece of who he was through the masquerade.  It is this patch he put on his flight suit before the mission—he hadn't had time to obtain a new one reflecting his promotion earlier that same day.

            "Is there anything you require?"  The question comes after several more minutes of silence.

            The doctor smiles in relief—he has just been given the permission he wants.  "Water from your spring.  My friends will provide the assistance I need for now.  Thank you."

            "Should your needs change, Padi will inform me.  He will remain with you."  A rustle in the tent flaps behind him signifies there is someone there.  A bundle is proffered through the tent flaps by a figure wearing soft orange.  Padi steps forward and takes the bundle from this mysterious person, presenting it to the woman in gray.  "For him," the leader points to Harm.  "When you are through he will need them."  With that he turns and leaves the tent.

            ***

            AJ and his officers enter the briefing without knocking.  All attention is focused in the front of the room where there seems to be a shouting match going on.  Tiner closes the hatch and remains beside it.  Sturgis and Mac choose opposite sides of the room and work their way up to where they have a good vantage point, the other personnel in the room haven't noticed the interruption yet.  AJ boldly strides to the front of the room.

            Most of the attendees of this impromptu meeting are known to Mac.  She sees Sharpe and Duncan, Jack and Jerry, Browning and McKnight—who are arguing loudly with Sheffield in the front of the room—and the rest of 'Commander Post's' team.  

            The room falls silent as the argument stops abruptly.  "AJ what are you doing here?" Sheffield demands.

            "Looking for answers, Mr. Secretary."

            "You're not going to find any here."

            "Actually I think we already have."  AJ turns to Browning and McKnight.  "Would this little meeting have to do with what I heard on the bridge earlier?" he asks them.

            "Yes it would, sir," McKnight answers, not looking at Sheffield—they had been arguing that AJ should be included, now a moot point.

            Sheffield looks ready to protest until he understands the meaning of AJ's 'we'—he finally sees Mac, Sturgis and Tiner.  There is just as much determination on their faces as on AJ's; he gives in without any further argument.  "How much do you know?"  The question includes AJ's officers.

            "Know—not much; suspect—plenty."  It's a small enough room that everyone can hear without straining. 

            The admission is about what Sheffield was expecting.  "I'm going to remind you all that every word spoken in here is classified—it is not to be repeated anywhere," he states.  He looks at AJ in challenge, but the former SeAL accepts the restriction—he, Mac, Sturgis and Tiner will know the truth, and that's all that matters right now.


	11. Chapter 11

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 11

            Sheffield allows time for everyone to find a seat before beginning his tale.  The only others in the room who know what he's about to reveal are the members of the team—and even they don't know all the details; Harm never told them what happened in the building.

            "Three months ago an incident occurred that could have had a drastic effect on this country.  While on a brief vacation the President's daughter was abducted by a terrorist who has been frustrated in his attempts at creating havoc for the past several years—beginning with the destruction of his Stinger missiles in Paraguay a little more than three years ago."  Everyone knows who he's talking about.

            "Sadik," Mac whispers.  

            "Rabb—Post—whatever you want to call him and his team had just finished up a mission.  With the kind of missions they were undertaking at the time it was unofficial SOP to give them a few days down time after each one.  Rabb was too stubborn to take it but his team usually did, and this day was no exception.  They were the only team available—I had no choice but to recall them…"

            ***

            "Commander, I need you to recall your team as soon as possible," Sheffield instructed Harm.

            "One moment, sir," Harm asked.  He quickly punched the numbers into the phone in the hotel, sending a brief and seemingly random set of numbers to the pager of Lt. Commander Duncan.  "All right, sir.  They'll be turning around in a minute or two and be back probably in a couple of hours, what is it we can do for you?"

            Sheffield proceeded to outline the problem, anticipating Harm would come up with a plan by the time his team returned.  It would probably take them another hour at least to get their gear together, but it was the best he could hope for—all of the other teams were unavailable.  Harm had a thoughtful look on his face at the end of the briefing, Sheffield assumed he was just working on a plan, he was only partly correct.  When the team arrived less than two hours later, a detailed plan was spelled out for them, but Harm was no where around—he had already left to put his plan into motion.  

            Upon arriving at the house Sadik was thought to be using, Harm conducted a quick survey of the area—there were several lapses in the security around the perimeter which were only the first of several errors on Sadik's part.  Harm used one of those gaps to sneak closer to the house and slip unnoticed inside.  Security on the inside was almost nonexistent.  Had he not taken out a large number of Sadik's forces several years before, Harm knew he would have faced a larger contingent of forces; as it was, Sadik was very distrustful and hadn't yet recruited enough men to replace those he had lost—all in Harm's favor.

            A few minutes of careful exploration brought Harm to the room Sadik was using.  He was on the phone, making demands and threatening the girl Harm had yet to locate.  Sadik was confident it was too soon after the abduction to have to worry about any rescue attempts; he was too confident his men would be able to repel any future attempts; and he was confident the father of the girl he abducted would give in immediately to his demands—he was wrong on all accounts.  

            Although he wanted to take out the man who had been in some small way responsible for his current position, Harm moved on after ascertaining his target was not in the room.  A short distance down the hallway Harm heard muffled sobbing, but it was a few moments until he determined exactly where it was coming from.  Using skills he had learned many years before, Harm had the door to the closet unlocked and opened in short order.  What he saw made him wish again he could take retribution on the one who caused this all—the President's daughter, Mary, was sitting huddled in a ball on the dirty floor of the closet.  She looked up with fear in her eyes when the door opened, only to quickly hide her head once again in her knees.  He didn't think of it at the time, but outfitted as he was, she was more scared of him than staying where he was—until after he spoke.

            "My name is Jackson Post," he told her softly, hating the lie.  "I'm here to take you home."

            She looked up hopeful and scared, but didn't make any attempt to move.  "Why?" she asked.

            The question stopped his move to reach in and bodily lift her out.  "I'm a Commander in the Untied States Navy, it's my job," he told her.  "Your father is worried about you."

            "My father probably doesn't even know I'm missing," she replied.

            Harm felt himself growing exasperated with the 14-year old.  "Mary, he knew shortly after you were taken.  One of the agents who were with you survived long enough to report in," he replied bluntly.  The look of fear turned to sadness, she'd been so wrapped up in self pity and fear for herself, she hadn't thought about the men who had given their lives to try to protect her.  It was that realization that made her put her trust in the man before her—that and the honesty in his eyes when he spoke to her.  

            "Okay, Commander Post, I'll go with you," she said, stretching out one hand for help to her feet.  

            "I don't believe either of you are going anywhere," a voice behind Harm said nastily.  In his preoccupation with Mary, Sadik was able to sneak up on him unawares.  "Now who are you?"

            Fear blossomed again in Mary's eyes as Harm turned to look his captor in the face.  "Commander Jackson Post, United States Navy," Harm answered.  "You would be well advised to allow us to walk out of here," he said confidently.  "The rest of my team is outside and they have orders to storm the place if I don't come out in a five minutes."  It was a bit of misdirection.  He had simply instructed his team to wait on their arrival for him and provide any support he may need, but he couldn't help the bluff—it simply felt right.

            It happened in slow motion.  Harm saw the intent in Sadik's eyes.  He stepped more fully in front of Mary, presenting himself as the sole target of Sadik's rage.  Three shots slammed into his chest in rapid succession.  Then all hell broke loose.

            Sadik turned even before Harm hit the ground.  The sound of automatic weapons being discharged outside startled him—Harm had been telling the truth—he did the only thing he could think of—forgetting everything else, Harm, Mary, his men, he ran for his life.

            Mary shrank back into the closet in shock.  She had blocked the images of the Secret Service agents getting killed to protect her, but this one she couldn't imagine ever being able to put out of her mind.  

            Then he moved.   He'd been unbalanced by the shots hitting his vest and had ended up flat on his back.  He put a hand to his chest, groaned and opened his eyes.  Preoccupied with the firing of the weapons outside, Sadik hadn't heard Harm gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him; Mary hadn't noticed either, she was convinced she had seen him die.  

            Harm tensed when he heard footsteps in the hallway, and silently cursed his inability to protect Mary.  

            The footsteps stopped.  "Um, sir.  This really isn't the best time to be taking a nap."

            Harm looked up into the face of Lieutenant Sharpe.  "Help me to my feet Sharpe," he requested.  "Sadik was just here, did you get him?"

            "Didn't see anyone.  What's the deal with this guy?  He doesn't seem to have much help around here."

            "He thought he was safe, I suppose.  We have Mary, let's get out of here."

            "Where is she?" Sharpe asked.

            Harm looked around.  He'd heard her when he first opened his eyes, he knew Sadik didn't take her, but now…  "Mary, come on out.  We're going to take you home now," he said soothingly.  

            Mary crept from the closet and launched herself at him when she saw he was on his feet.  She missed the grimace when she buried her head in his chest, but Sharpe didn't.  "I thought he had killed you too," she said through her tears.

            "It would take more than him to get me," Harm joked.  "Let's get out of here."  Sharpe had questions—one look at Harm made him keep them to himself, for now.  He took point and led the way from the house to where the rest of the team had gathered, while Harm followed with Mary clinging to his side.

            ***

            "Conversation with the President later revealed Sadik was on his way to kill Mary.  The President had refused to give in to his demands, they were just too great.  We found out Sadik survived the raid.  He put out word that he wanted Commander Jackson Post—alive or dead—although he preferred him alive.  It was then that we made the decision to bring Rabb out of hiding.  Sadik wanted both men, but he was gunning for Post and I don't believe he knows the name of the man who foiled his plans in Paraguay."

            The silence in the room following the story is palpable.  It hangs there until Tiner asks, "That was an interesting story, but what does it have to do with this?" he waves his hand around the room.

            "I think I can answer that," a voice comes from the back of the room, beside the door.  All heads swivel to look behind them—no one heard anyone enter in their entrancement of the story.  

            Clayton Webb strides to the front of the room as if he belongs in the place although his typical three-piece suit is at odds with the uniforms and even Sheffield's slightly more casual look.  "Mr. Webb, what are you doing here?" Sheffield asks.

            "I was in the area and thought I'd drop by," Webb quips.  "I was looking into something for a friend.  I couldn't locate the information and was prepared to deliver the message in person, but then I overheard story you just told and found the reason for my failure.  When you people sit on something, you certainly do a good job of it," he says to Sheffield.  

            "What are you talking about?"

            "Let's just say Commander Rabb's recent reemergence into society has many people wondering where he's been for the last three years.  Now that I know, there are things that begin to make more sense."  He obviously doesn't know everything.

            "That doesn't tell me why you're here," Sheffield grumbles.

            Webb smiles, but it fades quickly.  "I have information that leads me to believe Sadik may be behind those planes you've been having troubles with."

            "What do you mean?" Browning asks.

            "Information has just come to light that Sadik made a large transaction with someone in the Russian government, but no one was able to determine what was purchased because nothing was shipped via the 'normal' routes.  When those Sukhoi began showing up, someone put two and two together, checked some records and determined that was the most likely explanation.  Sadik does not like the United States, he really does not like the United States Navy and he is particularly unhappy with two United States Navy Commanders—although he does not realize they are the same person.  He's out for blood and I believe forcing your pilot down is the beginning of his revenge."


	12. Chapter 12

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 12

            "There must be a heck of an interesting story behind this."  The doctor is finishing up the bandages on Harm's shoulder when he notices Harm's eyes are open.

            "Captain Harmon Rabb Jr, United States Navy," Harm gets out barely above a whisper.  His mouth and throat are as dry as the desert he just trekked through.

            "Easy now, Captain.  You're among friends."  He offers Harm a drink of water; it is surprisingly cool and clear, not warm and brackish as Harm expected.

            "Who are you?"  Harm asks when he's had as much water as the man will allow him.

            "Dr. Robert West at your service," Bob says mockingly with a smile.  "Feel free to call me Bob.  And those two are my brother and sister-in-law, Conrad and Jamie."

            "What are you doing here?" 

            "Ah well, they try to heal the wounds of the soul while I try to heal the wounds of the body.  I must say I believe I have the easier job of the two."

            "Missionaries?"  Harm asks.  He can't help but think of the couple Mac had watched Sadik kill in Paraguay.

            "Well yes.  But if anyone's not interested, I simply treat the injured and sick and they tell stories.  I mostly deal with the children but have been known to stretch my skills a bit and treat adults on occasion."

            Harm takes note of the bandages on his wounds.  "Thank you for attending to my injuries," he says, wincing inwardly at the wording.

            "Awfully formal, aren't you?" Bob quips.  There is not much besides his profession he takes seriously—and even that he likes to liven up since he mainly deals with children.  "Anyway, don't thank me too much; I've gotten all the burns and removed a chunk of metal from your calf, however whatever is in your shoulder is going to be there for a while, it's beyond my skills."

            "I don't really feel that one much anyway," Harm fibs.  "I may have hoped otherwise, but beggars can't be choosers; I stand by my thank you for what you've done."

            Bob accepts the white lie and changes the subject.  "Danib Ashra is our host.  He's requested our presence for dinner if you feel up to it."  His speech this time is formal; he felt it necessary as he is relaying a formal request.

            Harm is a little slow on the switch in conversation topics but he catches up after only a minute of awkward silence.  "I'd be honored," he responds finally.  In the whirlwind that's been his day he can't remember the last time he ate.

            "I don't mean to pry, but is someone going to be looking for you?"  Bob changes the subject again.

            "Both friend and foe most likely," Harm admits.  'Although I have a feeling friend may be too far behind foe,' he continues to himself.

            Bob and Conrad—who along with his wife has remained silent to this point—help Harm to his feet.  In the course of treating his injuries, Bob had removed the ruined flight suit and replaced it partly with a pair of loose pants—the ones provided by Danib.  Once they get him to his feet, Jamie helps him put the matching long robe on.  Harm grits his teeth as they maneuver it over his left arm, trying not to move it too much.  Bob slides a makeshift sling onto his arm and secures it across his chest.

            Harm's jaw aches by the time they travel the thirty or so steps to the next tent where Danib and his family wait—Bob doesn't have anything stronger than Tylenol in his bag and Harm's leg aches right along with his shoulder.  He exchanges greetings with and thanks his host before dropping carefully to the ground.

            The meal is awkward until Harm explains he doesn't eat red meat—after that the youngsters serving those dishes do not stop at his place.  The vegetables are plentiful and fresh, as are the fruits.  Harm compliments one youngster on the bread she offers and asks where all the food comes from.

            "It is a secret," Danib tells him with a smile; he already likes his uninvited guest.   Anything further he is going to say on the subject is cut off by a cry outside the tent.

            Danib is on his feet and outside in an instant, everyone else in the tent is frozen to the spot.  As voices filter through the tent, Harm realizes he recognizes one of the voices—the one raised in anger.  "Help me up," he asks of Bob and Conrad.  They would prefer not to get involved but they reluctantly help him to his feet.  Harm limps to the entrance of the tent and pauses to listen.

            "If you have nothing to hide, why won't you let my men look in the tent?" Sadik asks.

            "My family is having dinner.  I do not want them disturbed any further."  

            "Have you seen any foreigners lately?" Sadik decides to try a different route.

            "You are a foreigner," Danib points out.

            "Any westerners?" Sadik ignores the jab.

            "All foreigners look alike to me," Danib stalls.

            Sadik's anger is getting the best of him.  "Has anyone else entered your camp today?" he nearly screams.

            "Only family."  

            Danib's statements fall short when one of Sadik's men emerges from the large tent with Harm's tattered flight suit.  

            "You said 'friend of foe' earlier; I'm guessing they would fall under the category of 'foe'." Conrad says quietly from beside Harm pulling his attention from the scene outside.

            "Yes," Harm agrees trying to keep an eye on what's happening outside.  He knows what he needs to do; an internal voice keeps him from taking that first step.  Without conscious thought, Harm removes the dog tags still hanging around his neck and hands them to Conrad.  "Would you do something with these, destroy them, bury them, anything?" he asks.

            Conrad looks a little surprised but acquiesces after taking a look into Harm's eyes.  He knows what the other man is planning.  "I won't let anyone find them," he promises.  

            Harm murmurs his thanks and takes the step that will take him from the safety of the tent.  Sadik is holding one of the children who is surprisingly calm for all the fear in his eyes.  Fear that is mirrored in the eyes set in Danib's otherwise passive face.  Harm hears the end of the threat, "I will kill all your children, beginning with this one, until you give up the foreigner," from Sadik and wonders what is the reason behind Danib's reluctance to turn him over to Sadik.

            Once through the flaps, Harm sees what has kept Sadik and his men from entering the tent.  Several men from Danib's family are standing on either side of the opening holding what appear to be very modern and well-kept automatic weapons.  No one tries to stop Harm as he leaves the tent, although all eyes fall on him.  "I am the one you're looking for," he confirms the question in Sadik's eyes.  "Let the boy go and I'll go with you."


	13. Chapter 13

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 13

            "Where is Rabb anyway?" Webb asks belatedly.  He's put two and two together and realized the team sitting in the small room is the one Harm has been leading; he's uncertain why they would be here without him.

            No one speaks for a moment.  "Rabb is the pilot we're talking about," Sheffield answers him.  Now Webb realizes why everyone looked so stricken when he announced Sadik's involvement.  "There's a team out looking for any sign he survived the explosion.  They should be checking in soon," he offers.

            Webb shakes himself out of his momentary stupor.  "If he survived he's going to hope he didn't if Sadik gets his hands on him," he says morosely.  

            "Why?" someone asks.

            "Because someone in Sadik's organization just found the information he's been looking for for the last three years—the identity of the person responsible for destroying the Stinger missiles."

            Dead silence once again prevails in the room.  "So whichever ID Harm has with him, he's going to have a problem if Sadik finds him," Mac states softly.  "What are the chances that our people will reach him before Sadik's men do?"

            "Slim to none if you ask me," another new voice comments.  

            "Doesn't anyone around here respect a closed meeting?" Sheffield asks angrily.

            "Explain yourself Lieutenant Ralins," Browning interjects before Sheffield can start another shouting match.

            "Captain Rabb went down where they wanted him to."  He shoots a concerned look Webb's way at the strangled noise he emits, shrugs and continues at Webb's shake of the head.  "I would guess they had people on the way to the site before his wheels even hit the ground."

            "If they went to so much trouble to get him down without firing a shot, why did they destroy the Tomcat?" Sturgis questions.

            "I don't know for sure, but that could have been a mistake.  The pilots weren't very experienced.  They made several mistakes that almost took out one of their own, and then they finally did.  After that they were gunning for the captain—it really wasn't his fault, he was just trying to avoid another collision.  He ordered me to get clear.  I'm not sure if that was a mistake on his part or not.  They swarmed him and another close call had him turning into an aircraft that shouldn't have been there.  It was only after that that he made his landing."

            "Did you see him make it out?" Tiner asks anxiously.  

            Ghost takes a look around the room at the hope shining on all the faces in anticipation of his answer—even the faces that belong to those who would deny vehemently if ever questioned that they were worried.  "There might have been enough time to get out of the cockpit, but I don't know that he would have made it away before the aircraft were destroyed," he answers honestly and forces himself to watch the hope dim in their eyes.  

            "Do you know what caused the aircraft to explode?" Sturgis asks.

            Ghost notices the insignia on Sturgis' collar.  Glancing around the room, he also takes note of the two-star and the other JAG officer.  He's uncertain why the lady marine is present, but the way she's sticking close to the admiral, he's wondering if she's one of his as well.  "Am I under investigation for something?" he asks nervously, directing his question to the CAG.

            "No," Browning responds.

            "May I ask why there are JAGs here?"

            "We're…friends of Captain Rabb's," Mac answers for them all, wondering if it's still true.

            "Captain Rabb was just named FleetJAG.  We were invited here for that purpose," AJ clarifies.

            He notes some discomfort in their gazes, files it away, and answers the previously asked question.  "One of the aircraft dove down to strafe the area; I didn't see exactly what he was aiming at if it wasn't the captain's Tomcat.  He must have hit some of the ordnance hanging off the wing because before I could blink the Tomcat was a ball of fire and the other aircraft—Sukhoi, Hammer called it—exploded.  After that I hightailed it out of the area. I reached the base, obtained a quick refuel and took off again—the storm had cleared and I wanted to be able to back up my report in person."

            "So what you're saying is that on the unlikely chance he actually made it out of the aircraft, he most likely was killed when the aircraft exploded," Duncan summarizes.

            "Ah, yes sir," Ghost responds.  He's not about to ask who this guy is—he looks like he's with Special Forces.

            "Well I for one don't buy it.  Team Three is due to report in and I'm going to wait for their word."

            "I have a few assets in the area.  They've promised to report if they come across any information," Webb adds.

            With no further interruptions, the large group breaks down into smaller ones—Harm's team stake out their territory in the center of the room; Ghost approaches Browning and McKnight for their opinion on his behavior; Webb drifts over to talk to Sturgis and Tiner; AJ and Mac corner Sheffield.  "You've known where he's been all these years, haven't you?" AJ demands.

            "Who else could have gotten him to ignore your offer to return to JAG?" Sheffield asks smugly.  He wisely chooses not to mention it was more responding to a threat than acquiescing to a request.

            "Why?" Mac wants to know.

            "It has been my opinion since I met him that Rabb's talents were wasted at JAG.  An opinion my predecessor apparently shared by the look of his personal files.  I saw an opportunity to make use of those talents and made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

            "A condition of your 'offer' was no contact with anyone at JAG.  I would like to know what that was supposed to accomplish."  AJ and Mac are apparently doing a tag-team affair.

            "To keep him focused.  He was allowed to contact his mother; other than that he didn't have a relationship where I felt it necessary to have him explain his sudden disappearance."

            "Why did he have to disappear?"

            "Because Sadik was looking for him.  I gave him a new identity and tried to keep him out of the spotlight.  I was hoping for the threat from Sadik to die down by the time we returned him to his former life.  I also expected it to take two years longer than it has."

            "Excuse me?"  AJ isn't sure he heard that correctly.

            "I planned for him to be 'gone' 5 years.  He inadvertently screwed up my time table by refusing leave and pushing himself—and his team—to finish the training. I had to juggle schedules and do some very hasty planning to keep up.  Several of the trainers had met him before; they were each told he was on an undercover assignment and to treat him as if they had never met him before.  What they weren't told was that his sole assignment was to complete the training, not an investigation as they might have thought."

            "And after the training?"

            "He and his team have become the best—they are the ideal each and every team, present and training, aspires to.  They have undertaken more missions than I care to count.  The one with the President's daughter I described to you earlier is just one of several sensitive 'issues' he's resolved for us.  And I might add that on several occasions where his team was on their post mission leave, Rabb filled in on flights that were for one reason or another short a pilot.  He's kept himself busy."

            "What kind of training?" AJ backtracks a bit.

            "Classified."

            AJ rolls his eyes.  "What did you mean when you said you and Nelson shared an opinion?  He referred to Rabb as 'Harmful Rabb' on several occasions."

            "Publicly he wanted to distance himself from the risks Rabb took.  Privately he admired him and thought his talents were more suited to someone in Special Forces than a lawyer; he didn't have the guts to make the change for him though."

            "And you did."  The comment is flat coming from Mac.

            "He provided the opening; I just took advantage of the situation."

            "Can you tell us anything else he has been doing these last years?" Mac asks.  She desperately wants to hear more about her absent friend.

            "Classified.  Harmon Rabb is a hero in the truest sense of the word.  He didn't just guide his team from the sidelines as he probably should have on several occasions; he was always in the forefront of each and every mission.  Due to bad intel, he almost destroyed his cover the day they rescued you."

            "What do you mean?"

            "We had word there was a JAG officer among those being held, but because of some bureaucratic nonsense we didn't have a name.  He charged in ahead of the rest of his intel and found you.  It seems it was our good fortune you were out of it otherwise he would have been found out at that point.  As it was, when he reported to me at the end of the mission I gave him a very specific warning; not to go anywhere near you."

            "Which would be why his team was always running interference for him.  Just how far did he take things on that mission?"

            "He saw you the entire way back to the ship and into sickbay.  After that he locked himself in his cabin."

            The sharp ring of a phone jangles through conversations.  "Webb."  Everyone holds their breath.  A few noncommittal noises later, Webb hangs up.  "I have some good news.  My people caught the man who ferreted out the information on Rabb's identity; they don't believe he had time to send it."  A murmur of relief waves through the listeners.  

"What's the bad news?" Mac asks.

"The man committed suicide before they could find out his whereabouts."

"How?" Jack asks.  Harm's team has been pretty much silent up until this point, other than Duncan's questions.

"Strangled himself.  I didn't get any details," he says anticipating the next question.  

"He had very few men with him three months ago; where did he get the men he must have now, with the pilots and this man?" Sharpe wonders.

Anyone who may have thought that question was directed at them is saved by the ringing of another telephone; this one is answered by McKnight.  He only listens for a moment before handing it to Sheffield.  Sheffield doesn't say a word, just listens with intense concentration.  Five minutes of silence later, he returns the phone to McKnight.  "They've found the plane, the canopy was open and they don't think he was in it. However there are signs there have been many people in the area as well.  They're preparing to continue the search in the morning."

"Why wait until morning?" Tiner asks.  AJ realizes he needs to arrange a posting away from headquarters for Tiner soon; the lieutenant needs to experience the real world.

"They need the rest and won't be able to track until daylight.  The trail is there but faint due to the terrain."

"It would be pointless for them to continue exhausted and without being able to see where they're going.  They could end up wandering in circles or destroying the trail they need to follow," Sharpe explains.

"All right everybody.  We're not going to have an update until tomorrow, probably noon at the earliest.  Why doesn't everyone return to what they're supposed to be doing?  Captain McKnight can inform us when they have word and we can use this room as a meeting place."  AJ feels someone needs to take charge or everyone is going to be here until word is received Harm is safe; and he's not all that sure that news is going to come tomorrow.  Reluctantly the meeting breaks up, everyone going to their staterooms to rest if not sleep.

***

"Who are you?" Sadik asks.  His tone is reminiscent to the last time he and Harm met and Harm can't help but be reminded of that time.

"Captain Harmon Rabb Jr., United States Navy," he replies.  

"You lie," Sadik snarls.  Harm is startled by the remark and anger behind it.

"Why would I lie?" he asks.

"I already know who you are, Grant Browning.  You cannot hide your identity from me."

Harm works his way through this one quickly.  Grant Browning is the CAG—and the man who usually flies the aircraft he just lost.  "I assure you my name is not Grant Browning.  He was unable to fly and asked me to take his place."  He's not sure why he wants to be sure Sadik knows who he is, but he feels it is important.  

"Prove it," Sadik spits out.

"The patch on my flight suit should give you my name."

Sadik checks.  "This says 'Commander'.  You are still lying to me."

Harm catches movement out of the corner of his eye and realizes the intent behind Sadik's challenge.  "I am not.  I don't fly often enough for it to make much difference what's on there," he hedges.  "And you'd better call off your men."

Danib has followed the direction of Harm's attention.  Some of Sadik's men are trying to sneak into the tent from another direction.  Immediately his men move to block them.  With trying to get his men into that tent, Sadik has been paying less attention to his captive than he should have.  The boy takes advantage of the inattention and slips away.  Brought back to the problem in front of him, Sadik raises his weapon to fire.  Harm steps in front of the boy, bringing a flash of memory back to Sadik—the image of Post stepping in front of the girl he wanted to kill.  "You would trade your life for that of an unimportant boy?" he says contemptuously.  

"In the eyes of his family he isn't unimportant.  I will still leave with you, but you must leave these people alone," he offers again, ignoring Danib's attempts to catch his attention.  

"Fine, whoever you are; come with me."  

Harm remains where he is standing, between Sadik and the entrance to the tent where the boy has disappeared.  "Not until you call off your men," he argues.

Sadik sees no way to end this standoff on his own terns without a blood bath; he's lost enough men already.  He orders his men to retreat and again repeats his order for Harm to join him.  This time Harm does so, struggling not to show weakness in front of his captor.  He turns when he reaches Sadik's side.  "Thank you for your hospitality," he calls over the distance, winces and gasps as Sadik pulls on his injured arm to get him moving.

A hundred yards from the tents two horses are waiting along with Sadik's men.  "I should make you walk behind but I don't have the time to wait," he comments to Harm.  "If you can't remain on the animal, I will drag you along behind instead," he threatens.  

"I can ride," Harm responds through gritted teeth.  The inactivity of the meal had lessened the throbbing to a very manageable level.  He had almost forgotten the hurt his injuries could produce until Sadik aggravated both of them.  With one arm, Harm does manage to mount under his own power.  The man who held the horse tucks the reins into his belt and produces a short length of rope to secure Harm's arms.  Seeing only one, he speaks rapidly to Sadik in another language.

"You were injured?" Sadik asks after riding in a circle around him.  

"Yes."  The admission is reluctant.  

Sadik narrows his eyes in thought.  "You came along voluntarily; will you give me your word you will not try to escape?"  He can see the thoughts running through Harm's mind.  "I imagine the reason behind that," he points to where his arm is secured across his chest, "is painful.  Should you fail to give your word I will have my men secure both of your arms behind your back."  

The threat is enough to make Harm shudder.  How could he possibly escape anyway?  He doesn't know where he is, doesn't have food or water to get him to a place of safety.  Is it worth putting himself in worse shape to avoid making that promise?  "I give you my word," he replies, although it pains him to do so—he'd rather be in shape, sort of, to escape later than try to do so now.

The sun is beginning to set as they set out.  Harm is in the midst of the men, one man leading his horse—Sadik doesn't trust him quite that much.  Harm is relieved to not have to guide the horse himself; it takes all his concentration to remain upright in the saddle.  Fortunately they only ride an hour after full dark.  Whoever is leading must have a good sense of direction because they arrive at a bustling camp without any deviations from their route.  Harm is helped off his horse, taken to a small tent and left alone for the first time since he landed the damaged Tomcat.  Sadik himself brings a canteen of water and a warning, "I expect your word to hold through the night," he says.  "We are close enough to their camp for me to send men back if it does not."  He doesn't need to explain who they are to Harm—he knows who he's talking about.  Without waiting for a response Sadik ducks out of the small tent, leaving Harm alone again.


	14. Chapter 14

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 14

            The sun is just beginning to paint the sky when Harm is roused none too gently from the restless sleep he just managed to fall into.  He stumbles out of the tent, almost knocking over the man who held the reins of his horse the day before.  Juan—Harm believes he heard the man called—glares at him contemptuously, grabs his arm and pulls him away from the tent.  All around tents are being struck; the camp is being dismantled.  

            Harm is not sure where Juan thinks he may go if he would loosen his hold of his arm, but the man keeps a tight grip and pretty much drags Harm where he wants to go.  The first stop is announced by the smell—Harm is allowed to walk a step or two away and use a very short bush for meager privacy but Juan watches the whole time.  The second stop is longer, obviously a spur of the moment idea when Harm asks to be allowed to clean up before their original second stop—breakfast.  He's left sitting on one of the low rocks that occasionally break the surface of the sand.  A few minutes later, he's drenched from behind by a large bucket of very cold water—he can't help but wonder how they can get water so cold in the desert, even as he's shivering in the early morning chill.  The laughter of those who witnessed the event, and even those who see him dripping wet, follow Harm back to the one tent remaining, the one serving a cold and meager breakfast.  He chokes down his allotted portion quickly, Juan does the same, and the next thing Harm knows he is back on the horse—he thinks it is the same one from last night—being led away from the now barren camping spot.  

            A couple of hours later Harm finds himself wishing for another bucket of cold water.  His clothes have long since dried in the heat from the sun.  'At least we're heading west,' he muses.  Had they been riding into the sun, he figures he'd be blind as well as burnt by the unforgiving rays.  The ride is actually fairly peaceful if you don't count riding in the midst of a large group of men who occasionally laugh at you and talk about you in a tongue you don't understand—so peaceful that if his injuries weren't doing a good job of keeping him awake, he'd have a hard time maintaining his position on the horse.

            The ride is taking them from the shifting sands of the desert to the place where the desert meets the foothills of a large mountain that looms in the distance.  As the terrain becomes hillier, Sadik sends riders ahead to scout.  The sun is almost directly overhead when the group sees one of the riders return at a gallop.  Behind him are several vehicles that don't seem to mind the rocky terrain; the sound of gunfire from the vehicles reaches them before the outrider does.

            Sadik begins to order his men to retreat; they need defensible ground—or at least a place that provides a little cover more cover than the small scrub and rocks they are riding through.  Something has found the cover adequate, until the horses thunder through its hiding place.  It darts out, startling Harm's horse and runs away too quickly to identify.  The damage is done however; the horse rears, dragging Juan from his own mount and dumping Harm on the ground.  It tries to bolt but Juan manages to maintain his hold on the reins.  Several others pass before one finally stops to offer assistance.  

            "Are you planning on getting up?" a voice asks Harm.  He's trying to catch the breath that has been knocked out of him while waves of pain radiate through his shoulder and chest.  "They're not members of your military.  In fact they're not friends of yours at all; they'd probably just as soon shoot you than see you safely back to your own people."  The voice is now unmistakably Sadik's.  

            Juan chooses that moment to return.  Without preamble he reaches down and hauls Harm to his feet, only by luck using his good arm.  He all but tosses Harm back onto the horse before he mounts his own.  Harm has to grab onto the horse's mane to keep from tumbling off as they break into a gallop.  He very briefly wonders what it is about Sadik that has had him flat on his back gasping for breath twice in his presence.  

            A few minutes later they top a rise along with the stragglers of the group.  Juan pulls Harm through the men waiting their turn to fight the enemy who has chased them this far.  Harm doesn't have to be told to dismount; it's not graceful, but he gets off the horse and on his feet under his own power.  Now that they have reached high ground, Sadik and his men have the advantage.  They are merciless in their retaliation for the ambush.  Once two of their vehicles are destroyed the attackers give up and flee.  Several of Sadik's men want to give chase; they back off grumbling when denied permission—Sadik is on a time schedule.  For the first time guilt creeps through Harm's consciousness—they followed orders, which is more than you could say for him three years ago.  Although he still firmly believes he made the correct decision, he now believes he should have handled things differently.  Of course, he's not sure where he'd be or what he'd be doing if he hadn't gone against orders.  How might things be…?  Juan interrupts his thoughts to pull him back to his feet and help him back on his horse.  His whole body protests the movement and he hopes they will not be riding much farther; he already knows he won't be able to walk should it come down to that, just keeping himself in the saddle is becoming more and more difficult.

            They set out again, this time Sadik sends his scouts out in pairs.  Everyone seems to relax just a bit when they don't find another ambush waiting for them.  Harm glances behind as they ride away, watching the burning remains of the vehicles and the scavenger birds circling overhead—neither group bothered to collect their dead.  He purposefully ignores the red stain slowly spreading across his shoulder—there's nothing he can do about it now.

            As the immediate tension of another possible attack passes Harm finds his thoughts once again drifting back to the times prior to his stint as Commander Post.  The reception he received aboard ship from his former friends and commanding officer saddened but didn't surprise him.  The short talk with AJ seemed to open a glimmer of hope that they could be fixed, but the run-in with Mac and Sturgis immediately after extinguished the tender spark.  Abruptly he remembers his instructions to his team should he ever be killed or missing for more than 24 hours—he wonders how that will further change things.

            Lost in his thought, Harm misses the approach to what appears to be a permanent encampment.  Camouflage netting hides the area from the air; the hills on either side keep it hidden from sight on the ground until you stumble across it. The first area they come to appears to be used as a hangar; the six remaining Fencers—one surrounded by workers—are there as well as an old cargo plane. There is a lot of activity surrounding the cargo plane; crates are being loaded and it appears a crew is performing a pre-flight check.

            Once they're through the hangar the rest of the group breaks off to perform whatever tasks they need to do.  Juan leads his charge to an out of the way corner.  Someone appears and takes the horses, leaving Harm and Juan on their own.  Harm looks around for something to sit on, sees nothing close by and settles for sitting on the ground.  Juan watches with amusement as he lowers himself stiffly to the ground, grimacing with the effort of moving his sore muscles.  Not even his training with his team has been enough to prepare him for the last 24 hours—muscles he never knew he had are hurting right along with his accumulated bruises, burns and shrapnel wounds.  That thought makes him realize he's either gotten used to the throbbing in his shoulder or it's gong numb once again—he's not sure which scenario he'd prefer.

            Sadik approaches a few minutes later.  He speaks briefly to Juan then turns his attention to Harm.  "Don't make yourself too comfortable. We're leaving soon."

            Where are we going? Harm wants to ask.  Sadik seems to read it in his eyes.

            "We are moving a little closer to home.  And provided your government cooperates, you should be able to go home soon after that."

            Harm is puzzled.  "What is it you want?" he asks.

            "Twice men of your military forces have thwarted my plans. I intend to get revenge upon them."

            "And you expect the United States to help you in that endeavor?"

            "Would they not want to have you back?"  Sadik asks.  

            Knowing he could be ending his usefulness Harm replies, "The United States does not negotiate with terrorists."

            "I know that.  But I have something they will want back.  And I don't need them to negotiate; in fact, I anticipate they will send a team in to rescue you."

            "What was the point of going through all the trouble to force me down and find me if you're planning on letting me go?"

            "You are unimportant.  There are, however, two men in your branch of service who I would dearly like to meet again."

            "Why?"  Harm is beginning to get the picture; might as well let Sadik spell his plans out for him.

            "They have caused me great personal loss and thwarted my plans."

            "How can you be sure they will come?"

            "I am sure since they have already had success against me they will be the ones to try again."

            "Do you know who they are?" 

            "I will by the time we reach our destination."

            Sadik is not giving up any information and Harm doesn't know how deep he can dig before Sadik gets suspicious.  "In other words you don't know who they are," he challenges bluntly.

            "One man is Commander Jackson Post.  He should be dead.  I shot him there," Sadik defends himself; he taps on Harm's chest where the shots he fired during the rescue of Mary hit Harm's vest—it's still a bit tender, especially after the landing from his tomcat exploding.  Harm does his best to not wince.  "As for the other, my men are working on finding his identity.  They should have the information by now."  Harm hopes that is not the case; he's in trouble if it is.  

            During the conversation Sadik has been looking over Harm's injured shoulder at the interior of the tent.  Harm believes he's waiting for a signal of some kind; when the hand grips his shoulder from behind he nearly jumps.

            ***

            Morning can't come quickly enough for Mac.  She's barely slept all night, worry over whether the team will find Harm wouldn't let her sleep.  All night the scene between her, Sturgis and Harm replays in her mind; how could she have been so cold towards him?  She's always prided herself in gathering all the facts before acting on an instinct; this time she acted first and look how she screwed it up.  

            The knock on her door is a welcome distraction from her thoughts.  She's been dressed for the last hour so all she has to do is call out for the person on the other side to enter.  Sturgis enters on her summons, leaving the door open behind him.  "The admiral is headed for the officer's mess; he's extended an invitation for us to join him for breakfast."

            Mac hops off her bunk. "That sounds like a much better plan than sitting here berating myself for my behavior yesterday," she says.

            "I know what you mean," Sturgis agrees sadly.  "With friends like us, he doesn't need any enemies."

            They head for the officer's mess together.  "Good morning Colonel," AJ greets Mac when they arrive.  He has coffee and a tray of breakfast before him, but hasn't begun eating yet.  

            "Good morning sir," Mac replies.  

            "Grab some breakfast and join me," AJ orders.  "Tiner will be here soon, we have some things to discuss this morning."

            Mac and Sturgis make their way to the serving line for breakfast.  Mac feels almost guilty as she places the bacon and sausage on her plate; she keeps expecting Harm's voice to chide her for her choices.  Once they've secured their coffee, Mac and Sturgis thread a path through the tables back to the admiral.  He still hasn't touched his meal, although his coffee cup is missing.  "Aren't you hungry sir?" Sturgis asks, indicating his still full plate.

            "Not particularly, no," AJ admits.  He picks up his fork and begins to eat.  "I suppose we should all make the effort though."  He leads by example.  

            They eat in silence until Tiner joins them with an overflowing tray; he doesn't seem to be feeling guilty about anything.  They three senior officers watch with amusement as he digs in, eating as though he hasn't had a bite to eat in days.  After a minute, he seems to notice the scrutiny and stops with his fork halfway to his mouth.  "We skipped dinner last night," he reminds them and dives in again.  That fuels their appetites and they all settle in to eat their breakfast.  

            Fifteen minutes later, they've all cleared their plates and finished their coffee.  Tiner secures them all refills and the four settle down to business.  "I need to get back to Washington," AJ begins.  "As much as I'd like to stay here and find out personally how things are going, there is a problem there I need to take care of.  I can leave one of you here, you decide," he announces.

            Mac and Sturgis experience a feeling of déjà vu, only this time they're missing someone.  "I'd like to stay," Mac says at the same time Sturgis says, "I'll go back to Washington."  Tiner doesn't object so it's set; Sturgis and Tiner will accompany AJ back to Washington, Mac will stay aboard and update them when she hears anything.  "The COD will be leaving in an hour gentlemen.  I'll meet you there," he dismisses them.  Mac retains her seat; she senses AJ would like to speak to her privately.  She isn't wrong.

            "Don't let them shut you out," he begins.  He nods toward a table in the corner.  "Maybe Webb will help you out; it looks like he's sticking around."

            Mac snaps her head in the direction he indicated.  "I didn't even see him there," she admits.  "How long has he been here?"  

            "He was there when I got here," AJ informs her.  "Join forces with him if you have to, but get me that information as soon as you can.  Technically Rabb's under my command now; you're my representative, and I'll be sure to pass that along to the captain."

            "Yes sir.  Is there anything else?"  Webb has approached the table and is waiting patiently for them to finish their conversation.

            "Give him a chance.  You know what I do; allow him some time to explain to you what he needs to explain before you tell him how you feel."

            "Understood sir," Mac readily agrees.  "I was up most of the night remembering how I reacted in the hallway outside your quarters.  I wish I could go back and change things; I'll settle for apologizing when he gets back if he'll give me the time of day."

            "I have a feeling that won't be a problem," AJ assures her.  He could see it in Harm's eyes when they were talking; Harm regretted not being able to be in contact with those he had become friends with at JAG.

            "Are you going to say anything to those back at JAG?" she asks suddenly, thinking of Bud, Harriet, Coates and the others in the office.

            "At the request of the SecNav I will tell them we have a new FleetJAG, but at the moment I'm not at liberty to discuss who it is," AJ replies wryly.  "When you call, make sure you speak to me, Sturgis or Tiner.  The others won't have any idea what you're talking about."

            "It doesn't feel right keeping them in the dark sir."

            "I understand Colonel.  But we've done things we didn't like before, this is just another of those things."

            "Yes sir."  With that, AJ leaves Mac and Webb alone in the room.


	15. Chapter 15

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 15

            Mac and Webb haven't really talked since Paraguay.  Shortly after Harm disappeared they agreed the kiss was nothing more than a way to not say something they'd both likely regret.  With Webb's CIA activities closely monitored to make sure he didn't involve JAG staff their contact has been brief.

            "You're looking better," Mac says to Webb.

            "I'd say the same for you, but it doesn't look like you got much sleep last night," Webb comments.

            "I'm worried about Harm," Mac admits.  "And feeling guilty for the way I treated him earlier."

            "I was wondering if you'd seen him; I guess that answers my question."

            "Yeah.  I was angry at him for leaving—I never considered it wasn't his choice and treated him accordingly," she replies morosely.  

            "It wasn't?"  Apparently that thought hadn't occurred to Webb either.

            "The SecNav threatened to process his resignation—which the admiral had held back—if he didn't agree to work for him."

            "So why didn't he contact you and let you know what was happening?"

            "He was under orders—no contact with anyone except his mother; and those were monitored."

            "I can't believe he didn't find a way in three years to contact you.  He traveled the whole way to Paraguay to rescue you."

            "Do you recall the two burly Marines in the briefing room?"  Webb nods.  "I'd say they make a very effective deterrent."  She hasn't thought to wonder if they went on leave with the rest of the team after a mission—should she dig, she would find that one of them was always nearby, except for some reason the night the call came about Mary.

            "And now that he's not hiding anymore?"

            "I just told you how well the first—and only—time I saw him went.  I'll have to hope he gives me a chance to apologize when he gets back."

            "I can't imagine Rabb being vindictive; I'm sure he'll give you all the time you need."

            "He's not the same man we knew three years ago.  He would have defended himself if he was," Mac says slowly.

            "You lost me there."

            "The admiral was given a copy of his personnel record.  I think there was more blacked out in it from the last three years than what was left in.  And the Harm I remember wouldn't have just walked away like he did."

            Webb considers his options.  "I've worked with his team several times in the last three years—given them information they needed to accomplish a couple of missions," he reveals.  "I never really gave it much thought, but there always seemed to be someone in the background when I was dealing with Duncan.  Now I feel like a fool knowing it was Rabb the whole time; I knew the way he finagled more information out of me than I wanted was familiar.  I know why some of those ops are classified.  I'll work on getting AJ an unedited copy; it'll be up to him whether or not he shares that information."  That's as far as he can go. "You could always ask Rabb about it."

            "If he's even speaking to me.  You didn't see the hurt in his eyes."  She begins to lose herself in the memory but someone entering the almost deserted officer's mess catches her attention.  "Commander Duncan," she calls to the newcomer.

            Duncan approaches the table warily.  He's finally figured out who she is.  "Colonel, Mr. Webb," he greets them formally.

            "You look a little lost this morning," Mac comments.

            "The team took watches in the comm room in case word came in about Captain Rabb, ma'am.  I pulled the mid watch and grabbed a couple hours more sleep.  I'm not used to sleeping in," Duncan responds tiredly.

            "You're looking for breakfast then," Mac surmises.

            "Yes ma'am."

            "Would you come back and join us once you've secured your meal?" Mac asks.  She doesn't make it an order—she'd really like to talk to Duncan, but unofficially.  

            Duncan wants to learn a little more about her.  "Yes ma'am.  Can I get either of you anything?" he asks.

            Both decline his offer and he wanders off in search of food and a strong cup of coffee.  He returns balancing his tray in one hand and holding a full pot of coffee in the other.  "Sure I can't interest you in a refill?" he asks.  "I've got plenty."  Webb refuses, mumbling something about the quality of the coffee, but Mac accepts with a smile of thanks.

            "Do you usually pull mid watch?" Mac asks, returning to their earlier conversation.

            "No ma'am.  Captain Rabb usually stands that one."

            "Figures," Mac mutters to herself.  The Harm she knew always took the most onerous duty on himself.

            They let Duncan satisfy his appetite in silence for a few minutes.  "About the only thing any of us did better than the captain in training was eat.  He has the appetite of a rabbit," he comments after finishing a large piece of sausage.

            "It's nice to know some things haven't changed," Webb quips.  

            Duncan looks intently at Webb.  "I always wondered how the captain could give me such good advice when I had to deal with you.  How long have you known him?"

            "I arranged for Rabb and Mac to work together…has it already been 10 years?  They were just a Lt. Commander and Major at the time."

            "And he's used us for his missions ever since—or at least did until 3 years ago," Mac puts in accusingly.

            "What happened?"  Duncan is intrigued; Harm has never allowed anyone a glimpse of his former life.

            Pained looks cross both faces.  "The mission was compromised.  We were caught by the man we were after, Sadik, and Rabb resigned his commission to save us," Webb reports.

            "Anything more than that you'd have to ask him; we don't know what happened to Harm when we got back from Paraguay," Mac adds quickly before Duncan can ask any unanswerable questions.  

            "So he started out as a lawyer?" Duncan asks slowly.

            "No, he started flying Tomcats, then he joined JAG, then went back to flying, then returned to JAG.  He's good at whatever he does.  Did you ever see the recruiting commercial he was in several years ago?"

            "Recruiting commercial?  No."  Duncan finally relaxes as Mac tells him about the commercial and several of their escapades.  In turn, Duncan offers stories from training and a few of the missions they've undertaken, although he's careful to leave out details.  Before any of them are aware, it's time for them to return to the meeting room for an update.  Duncan excuses himself, he wants to pick up something before the meeting—something he hopes he can put quietly back where he got it from after the meeting.

            ***

            Harm turns to get a look at whoever has a hand on his shoulder.  Had he not already been seated on the ground he probably would have ended up there; the hand belongs to his old mentor, Gary Hochausen.  "I thought you said you had Captain Browning," Gary says suspiciously.

            "Yes, although he tries to tell me he is someone else," Sadik replies.

            "This isn't Browning.  I don't know Browning, but I'd know him anywhere."  Gary glares at Harm.  "What are you doing here Rabb?" he asks.

            "That's what I'd like to know," Harm replies, biting back the 'sir' that is on the tip of his tongue.  If Hochausen is here voluntarily, Harm has lost the last bit of respect he had for the man.

            "Who is this man then?" Sadik demands.

            Harm struggles up off the ground.  "Captain Harmon Rabb, Jr.," he replies again, standing tall.  "I told you I wasn't Captain Browning," he adds impulsively.    Sadik looks ready to knock him off his feet, but Gary steps between them, inadvertently blocking his employer's wrath.

            "Did they promote you because you destroyed my career?" Gary asks contemptuously.  "How'd you get that ride anyway?  You aren't cleared for night flights."

            "Actually I've been cleared for years."

            Gary would have continued grilling Harm but Sadik wants some answers of his own.  He ignores Harm.  "Is he valuable to me as a hostage?" he asks.

            "Probably more so than Browning actually," Gary admits.  "He's a lawyer, not combat personnel," he sneers.  "They'll want to save his six before he hurts himself."

            Harm is certain enlightening them is not in his best interest.  "A lawyer?  Then he has more information than he lets on," Sadik surmises.  Someone in the background calls to him. "We must leave now.  We will begin a new conversation when we reach our destination," he promises.  He and Gary walk away quickly to the plane; Juan appears from nowhere and forces Harm along the same path.


	16. Chapter 16

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 16

            A slightly smaller group gathers for the noon update with the departure of most of the JAG team.  If Sheffield has any thoughts of asking Mac or Webb to leave the meeting, they seem to be quelled when Duncan offers them seats with his team.  The call comes in almost exactly at noon; '48 seconds late,' Mac notes.  The team waits tersely for Sheffield to finish listening; once again it seems to be a one-way communication.  "Keep me posted," he says finally, hanging up the phone and turning to face those waiting.

            "The trail led the team to a nomadic encampment.  The leader, a Danib Ashra, said Rabb was his guest for a short time.  A doctor traveling with two missionaries was at the encampment and treated his injuries.  Not long after that, Sadik found him.  Danib refused to admit Rabb was in the camp, but when Sadik threatened his son, Rabb stepped forward and went with Sadik voluntarily.  They're going to follow that trail now with horses and a guide provided by Danib; it appears Sadik's forces were mounted, and now have a considerable lead," Sheffield summarizes.

            "How badly is he hurt?" one of the members of Harm's team asks.

            "He apparently doesn't have use of his left arm; other than that, nothing serious."

            "How far are they behind Sadik's men?" Sharpe asks.

            "It was dusk when Sadik departed the camp.  It depends on how far they traveled into the evening."

            "Did Harm leave a message?" Mac asks.

            "The missionaries and doctor were gone by the time the team arrived.  They spent some time with him.  If he left a message, it was with them, and is now gone."

            Webb seems to be struggling with himself.  "I have some…assets in the area; I'm sure if they see an American pilot they'll call in," he offers.

            "I want to know if they do," Sheffield states.

            "Webb, you're getting soft," Mac whispers.  "You're actually volunteering information."

            "After what he did in Paraguay, I owe him," Webb whispers back.

            With nothing further, the meeting breaks up.  Webb hurries out of the room to contact his office, Harm's team—with the exception of Duncan—chooses to work out in the ship's gym, Browning heads to a pre-flight briefing, McKnight intends to snag a snack before heading up to the bridge, and Sheffield stalks out of the room, avoiding further conversation with anyone.  Mac plans to update AJ; Duncan asks her to wait.

            "Ma'am, Captain Rabb got us started on a tradition he said an old CO of his originally began in Seal Team 2.  His instructions were if he was killed or if he was missing for more than 24 hours this was to go to Colonel Sarah MacKenzie from JAG."  He hands her a manila envelope—it's rather thick.  "It doesn't mean we've given up on him, I'm just following his orders, ma'am."  Leaving her staring at the envelope, Duncan quietly exits the room and closes the hatch softly behind him.

            Mac's internal clock tells her she's been standing in the same spot for the last five minutes.  With trembling hands, she opens the envelope and removes the contents.  The first thing she encounters is a letter:

Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

Mac,

Isn't it ironic?  You're the first and only person I could think of to send this to, yet you probably hate me by now.  I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to see you after returning from Paraguay, I didn't leave by my choice.  I made a deal the night we returned; one of the concessions I was granted was if I was to ever go missing for more than 24 hours I would get the chance to explain my absence.  Since you have this—or it's in the trash, not opened—I must assume I've been missing for at least that time…or I'm not coming back at all.  All I ask is, if you are willing, please distribute the enclosed letters for me.  The rest is for you should you wish to have it. 

Harm

            Mac sorts through the contents of the envelope and finds the letters he mentioned.  There is one for each of his coworkers from JAG; AJ, Sturgis, Bud, Harriet, Tiner, Coates and Gunny.  There is even one labeled AJ Roberts.  A single tear meanders down her cheek as she stares at the letter in her hand.  Had she not seen him earlier she most likely would have simply tossed the whole thing into the trash as he surmised—now that's irony, the first time she sees him in years and he disappears again.  She realizes she's still standing in the middle of the meeting room; her quarters aren't far, she tucks the envelopes in her bag and sits down with what's left.

            ***

            Sadik's twisted sense of humor has placed Harm in the cockpit of the cargo plane with Gary.  He tries to squirm out of the restraints without success.  Gary watches impassively out of the corner of his eye as he gets the plane airborne.  

            "What are you doing here Harm?" Gary asks once they've reached their cruising altitude.  

            The use of his given name catches Harm's attention.  "I could ask you the same thing," he shoots back.

            "Quiet or you'll blow my cover," Gary implores.

            "What cover?"  Harm isn't backing down an inch.

            "I know we didn't part on very good terms the last time I saw you but a lot of things have changed since then.  Hear me out, then if you still want to condemn me, I won't protest."

            Something in his expression makes its way through Harm's anger.  "I'll listen," he gives in.

            "I was angry when you brought my problem out in the open—and yes, I was angry at you.  I was ready to take it to court-martial and fight for not only my flight status but also my career.  Before any of that could happen, my wife and son were in a car accident.  I took the retirement offered by the Navy because of it.  You asked me what I would feel if it was my wife and son in that car — I understood then quite clearly what Mr. Linnear went through.  My wife, Gail, held on for nearly a year, but finally succumbed to her injuries; my son had been killed instantly.  A couple of days after the funeral I was approached by a man who offered me a job flying.  I was ecstatic until reality intruded and I told him I couldn't—your words finally sunk in.  He persisted, told me I could have my eyes fixed and could take on a job for them in less than a week.  Although I was still skeptical because it sounded too good to be true, I agreed.  True to his word I had the surgery to correct my vision and flew my first mission for the CIA in five days.  Once that first mission was done, I was invited to join.  I haven't looked back since then."

            "That's an interesting story.  But how do I know it's true?" Harm asks.

            "All I can offer is my word.  As I said, I was angry at you at first.  I thought you had taken my life away from me.  But had I still been in the Navy I never would have been able to have the time with my wife that I did before she died."

            "What is your current mission?" 

            "I'm gathering intel on Sadik.  I've been piloting this cargo plane for the last 6 months, while he has me waiting for another flight I gather what information I can and pass it on. I made contact by doing an 'emergency' landing on a runway in his territory.  He didn't take long in attempting to recruit both me and the plane I was flying."

            Harm ponders that for a minute.  "What kind of intel?" he asks.

            Gary glances back through the plane before he answers; Sadik and his men are engrossed in some sort of game, they're not paying any attention to what's happening up front.  "Be glad you're not a Commander anymore.  Sadik has a personal dislike for two in particular."

            "I already know all about that," Harm interrupts.  "Sadik told me himself."

            "I hear they've caught 7 of the 9 men he sent to locate the identity of the first one."

            "That only tells me you're GETTING information, not giving it," Harm comments exasperatedly.

            "Look, Commander Post and whoever the other guy is are in serious trouble.  You'd have joined their ranks if one of the other planes went down—Sadik's son was piloting the one that brought you down.  As it is, he's not very happy with you, but is willing to let you go because he really wants these other two guys."

            'Great,' Harm thinks, 'now I'm on his list again, and this time he knows who I am.'  "Sadik vaguely outlined some of his plans for me.  Don't you have any information I DON'T know?"

            Harm and Gary both look angry as they are intensely into the debate.  Fortunately they hear when one of Sadik's men approaches the cockpit and stop their conversation in time.

            A small, wiry man enters, noticing what appears to be tension between the two Americans.  He smiles and leans close to Gary.  A whispered conversation takes place, at the end of which Gary asks a couple of clarifying questions before the man gives Harm a huge smile and saunters away.  Harm looks back at Gary—he's deathly pale.

            "What is it?" Harm demands.

            Gary swallows, composes himself visibly and answers in a flat tone, "I was just told we're not heading to Paraguay this trip.  It seems Sadik had more plans up his sleeve than anyone knew about; he's taken control of the embassy in Lima."

            "Is this fact or speculation on his part?" Harm asks.

            "Fact.  The message apparently came in confirming mission accomplished before we took off."

            "Why is he heading there?"

            "More hostages."  Gary looks at Harm with concern.  "You'd better watch your step with Sadik.  If he has enough hostages he might just decide he does want to put you on the list with the other two."

            Thoughts are tumbling through Harm's mind faster than he can latch on to any of them.  It finally hits him that if they travel to Peru—or even Paraguay—his team will be the closest; he needs to find some way to warn them.  "Can you get a message out?" he asks Gary.

            "That depends if Sadik will let me out of his sight after we land."

            "Do you have someone you usually contact?"

            "I normally take the tapes from the equipment in the back of the plane, drop them off somewhere and then let my contact know where they are.  I can also report findings verbally to that same person if it's important enough, although they seem to prefer having the information as more than just my word.  The guy I usually contact has just changed; I think my new contact is a guy named Webb."

            "Clayton Webb?" Harm questions.

            "How do you know that?"  

            "He just keeps popping up everywhere," Harm mutters.  "I need to know, does Sadik have it in for the team Commander Post was leading, or is it just Post himself?"  If Sadik's not interested in his team he'll have Gary start the request through Webb, otherwise he'll request another team be sent.

            "Just Post from what I understand.  He hasn't mentioned anything about a team.  Why do you ask?"

            "Because I want you to request team 'O' be sent for the rescue.  We both know they're going to send someone, and so does Sadik.  I think we should make sure they send the best."

            "What is this team 'O'?"

            "Post's team."

            "You're going to let him walk into a trap?" Gary asks incredulously.  "After what you've seen and what I've told you, you'd still like the man to get close?"

            "Post won't be with them," Harm states confidently.

            "How can you be sure?"

            "Trust me, I know."  

            "How do you know about the teams anyway?  Did you have to defend Post at some point?  Or worse, prosecute him?"  

            Harm wrestles over his next move.  Does he trust Gary enough not to turn him in to Sadik?  He has offered up a couple of unknowns, but is that just Sadik planting information to see how far it goes, or is it real?  For that matter, Sadik might have discovered Webb's real name in an attempt to find all of the people who thwarted him before…  "Has Sadik ever mentioned anyone other than the two commanders?  A woman or another man?" he asks.

            "I overheard a conversation where Sadik was discussing the first man, the one he's been looking for for several years.  There was mention of another man and woman, but Sadik dismissed them as unimportant.  He said something like they were already defeated, were it not for the unknown commander, they'd both be dead.  He didn't want to waste any time on them."

            A spark of relief settles in Harm's heart—Sadik doesn't care about getting even with Mac and Webb.  "Good."

            Gary wonders where Harm gets his information; he hardly remembered that detail until Harm mentioned it.  "How do you know about them?" he asks suspiciously.

            Harm knew it wouldn't take Gary long to return to the question about his knowledge.  "I was there.  I was the one who rescued Sadik's prisoners and destroyed his Stinger missiles," Harm confides.  "And I know Post won't be accompanying his team on any rescue missions because I've been Post for the last three years."

            The bombshell has been dropped.  The first admission startles Gary.  The second nearly overwhelms him.  Harm knows he could have just sealed his fate, but for some reason he believes his former mentor.  Should he be wrong…well, it will probably be the last thing he's ever wrong about.


	17. Chapter 17

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 17

                                                                                                                                                                                    May 30, 2003

Sarah,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't call last night when I got your message; it was late.  I know that's no excuse, but after the past several days I figured you'd already be asleep and I didn't want to wake you.  I'm sorry.

I'm sorry we didn't find the opportunity to talk; I thought we had time.  I didn't realize the silence between us would be so hard to break once it had begun; I didn't know what to say.  I'm sorry.

            I'm sorry for not finding you sooner.  I had a difficult time trying to track you down.  Getting information out of anyone at the CIA is akin to beating your head against a brick wall  I'm lucky I found a small hole in the wall; I wish I could have found it sooner do you won't have had to endure what you did.  I'm sorry.

            I'm sorry for not coming up with a convincing argument to talk you out of the mission in the first place.  I was already feeling off balance when you waltzed into my apartment that last night to announce you were going with Webb.  I just couldn't find any words to say.  I'm sorry.

            I'm sorry for not answering quickly enough when you were TAD to the Guadalcanal.  In two days you will have the answer to your question.  I won't be there to tell you in person.  I'm sorry.

            I'm currently sitting in a cold hotel room, in the middle of who knows where, wondering how everything went so wrong.  I don't know where I'm going or when I'll be back.  If I had known ahead of time what the consequences of my rash actions would be, I may have changed a few details but I'm afraid my actions would have largely been the same.  I don't regret the consequences of those actions, although I will always wish things could have been different.  I do not regret the consequences because they mean that you didn't die forgotten in that shack in Paraguay.  That knowledge will have to sustain me, for it will be some time before our paths ever cross again.

            I must go now, my shadows are near.  Take care of yourself Sarah.  I wish you a wonderful life—I hope you find a good man, continue to have a great career and have lots and lots of comfortable shoes to wear.

            ***

            Two teardrops make a lonely trek down Mac's cheeks.  He's been working on himself again.  Once he gave her an 'acknowledgement' of her skills when he underestimated her; this time he's moved to a full-blown apology.  And what an apology it is.  But while she is willing to allow him to shoulder his part of the blame, she feels some of it needs to be laid at her feet as well.

            He never did tell her that he resigned his commission to find her; and she appeared ungrateful for his sacrifice—heck, she appeared ungrateful for the rescue period.  She remembers being terrified watching Sadik's men prepare the objects they were planning to use to torture her.  She remembers going numb with relief when Harm burst in the door; she was so numb the only way she could think of to keep Webb from saying something she didn't want to hear was to kiss him.  She still wonders if Harm saw that kiss—he never said a word about it afterwards.  'What if that is part of the reason he left JAG,' she wonders, guilt beginning to seep into her consciousness.  'What did he mean when he wrote he hopes I find a good man?  Does he not think Webb is good enough—not that I want him—or did he phrase it that way because that's the way I phrased it?'  The question eats at her until she concedes it is a moot point anyway—there's only one man she'll ever deem 'good enough' for herself.

            Her stomach growls and her internal clock tells her it is almost time for dinner.  The thought hits her that she never updated AJ.  Deciding she would like to give him the most up-to-date information she can, Mac prepares to find Duncan, McKnight or Sheffield.  Hopefully the determined look on her face won't scare any of them off.

            Mac doesn't have far to go—she opens the door to her quarters and nearly runs into Duncan.  His reflexes are far faster than hers—he backs off quickly preventing a repeat of the incident outside AJ's quarters the day before.  "Commander, I was on my way to find you," she says once she's not tripping over her feet anymore.

            "Colonel," he acknowledges.  "I have an update to pass along to you.  Would you care to talk over dinner?" he asks hearing her stomach growl.

            "Would that invitation include me as well?" Webb asks stepping out of his quarters.  He also has information to share.

            Mac's stomach growls loudly again, mortifying and remind her she skipped lunch.  "Gentlemen, I would be happy to join you both."  A third growl is emitted by her stomach.  "But I think I need to eat before I do any listening or talking," she laughs.

            Ten minutes later they've secured food and have found a table in the corner where it should be relatively quiet.  They've just started eating when Mac feels someone standing behind the empty chair beside her.  She looks up to see Browning hovering uncertainly.  "That's all right, keep your seats," he tells Mac and Duncan.  "I was wondering if I could join you.  I heard you received an update."  Browning feels terribly guilty that Harm was flying in his place.

            "Please, Captain.  Have a seat," Mac invites after a swallow of water.  "We're holding off on the discussion until after we've eaten."

            "Sounds like a good idea to me," Browning agrees.  "I skipped lunch."

            "I think we all did," Duncan comments and they all turn their attention back to their meals.

            The rest of the meal passes in companionable silence.  Finally they each have had enough and pile their empty trays in the center of the table.  "I'll take care of these," Duncan offers, gathering up the pile.  He's back in a minute with a pitcher of ice water—the drink of choice for those at the table.

            "May I start?" Webb asks before anyone else can speak.

            "Webb, you're volunteering information again," Mac teases.

            "I'm just paying off a debt," Webb retorts.

            "What debt would that be?" Duncan asks. This is unlike the Webb he's dealt with for the last three years—that Webb never gave up more than sketchy information without serious prodding.

            "Rabb saved my life, at great risk to his own, before you met.  He also salvaged my operation and put a far more positive outcome on it than I thought would be possible.  Heck, that stunt is probably why you met him in the first place."

            Duncan notes the silent communication between Mac and Webb; he decides he needs to get the whole story somehow—but later.  "Go ahead."

            "I mentioned I had assets in the area Rabb was last seen; I spoke to one of them a little while ago.  He confirmed the information provided by Danib Ashra."

            "Is this 'asset' of yours one of the missionaries or the doctor?" Mac asks.

            "The doctor," Webb confirms.

            "Did he give anymore information on the captain's injuries?" Duncan queries.

            "I asked why he couldn't use his left arm.  He said there is a piece of shrapnel embedded there that he couldn't remove—he immobilized the arm to keep it from moving any deeper."

            "Was he able to provide any other information?" Browning asks.

            "Rabb went with Sadik willingly, but Sadik does not yet know who he has.  Bob did say Rabb left his dog tags with him—asked him to destroy them in fact.  He told me the name on those dog tags is Jackson Post, not Harmon Rabb.  Rabb told Sadik his name, but Sadik thinks he has you Captain Browning," 

            Browning looks stricken.  "Why me?" he questions.

            "I don't think it had anything to do with you specifically.  I believe Sadik has an informant who has supplied him with the information detailing which pilot flies with which plane.  They must have been going after the highest rank that they could lure out; that would have been you if Rabb hadn't taken your place."

            "But why force anyone down?" 

            "He's after Harm, one way or another.  I'd bet he's going to offer him up as bait," Mac offers.

            "Bait for what?  He has what he wants."

            "Yes, but he doesn't know that; at least not yet."  The table falls silent as they consider the implications of that statement.  

            "I can't say I have much good news to report, but I do think you all want to know what the team ran across," Duncan says into the silence.

            "By all means Commander, don't keep them in suspense," Sheffield comments from the next table.  Mac has seen him sitting there; he has been quietly listening to their discussion.

            "Would you like to pull up a chair so you won't have to strain to hear?" Webb asks sarcastically—he also knew Sheffield was sitting there.  "I could also repeat anything you didn't hear from my report."

            Sheffield does move his chair into the space Browning and Mac make between them.  "I heard everything you said just fine, Webb.  I am wondering if you were planning on sharing the information with me later."

            "Probably, if you asked."

            "Team I," Duncan begins, "followed the trail left by Sadik and his men.  Along the way they found the aftermath of an ambush by a rival—although they don't know what the rival might have been after.  There were a few men left behind, wounded, but none of them would speak to the team—they even refused help when it was offered.  The best information they got was from a member of the rival band.  He made sure to let them know what direction Sadik was traveling.  He did boast that they almost got Sadik himself as he stopped to see that one of his men got back on his horse after he was thrown.  He described the man as having dark hair and sunburned pale skin—but what stuck in his mind was when the man remounted, with a great deal of assistance, there was a red stain he could see spreading on the rider's shoulder—they've never known Sadik to allow assistance for one who can't keep up."

            "That must have been Harm.  Sadik wouldn't have wanted to lose him," Mac comments.  "Did the man say what they might have done had Sadik not made sure he was with them?"

            "He didn't come out and say anything, but I'm guessing they don't take any prisoners."  No one needs to be told what that would have meant for Harm—for a moment, their anger at Sadik lessens just a bit; after all he did save Harm's life.  

            "So it wouldn't be so much freeing someone Sadik was holding captive as denying him the ability to get any use out of that person," Mac surmises.

            "That's correct.  Anyway, the team continued on and was almost seen before they realized they had found the camp.  It was well hidden; had Sadik's sentries been a little quieter, the outcome would have been quite different.  They called in for backup and neutralized the camp; it actually didn't take much. Sadik had already left, taking all of the men who had completed their training with him—the rest were pretty much raw recruits and their trainers—they didn't offer much resistance.  Captain, you'll be happy to know they found the six remaining Fencers.  There were only four men they could identify as pilots; one of the planes was being repaired, another looked like it was next.  My guess is the pilots of those two planes are traveling with Sadik.  Even should that be the case, the Fencers are going to be destroyed once they have all the information they can get from them and they're ready to leave the area—they won't be bothering your pilots anymore."

            "That is good news.  I don't suppose we could get one of them out of there intact…  No, I guess not," Browning answers his own question ruefully.  He would love the opportunity to study the aircraft, but he acknowledges it would be hard to get one out safely.  

            Mac notices the look in the aviator's eyes and smiles as she thinks that Harm must have had the same thoughts while he was near the aircraft.  "Do you have confirmation that Sadik took Harm with him?" she asks.

            "One of the trainees boasted about the American captive; he also mentioned the pilot of the cargo plane knew Captain Rabb and they didn't seem to get along—he's also an American, which would be a good indication why the captain wouldn't like him.   You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Duncan asks Webb.

            "Maybe.  I just 'inherited' a contact from a guy who left the Agency because he wanted a safer job when he got married.  I've only gotten a couple of reports from him—he flies a cargo plane for Sadik, ferrying people and supplies.  I was told he's the one who put us on the trail of the last person we caught trying to determine Rabb's identity.  There are two more out there; we just haven't found them yet."  Webb realizes his slip a moment too late.

            "There are two more chances Sadik will find out Harm is the one he's looking for?" Mac asks angrily.  "And you haven't told anyone?"  The expression on Sheffield's face confirms this is news to him.

            "We don't have a description and we're watching for anyone to access that information," Webb explains defensively.  He's not sure why Mac is so upset, other than the quick run-in with Harm the day before she hadn't seen him in years…and he thought she hadn't thought of him either.

            "The last one almost made it out of the country with that information before you stopped him. I am going to get my people involved to be sure it doesn't actually happen this time," Sheffield vows.

            "How are you going to do that without giving the information away?" Webb asks.

            That causes Sheffield to pause for a moment. "I don't know but I'll figure something out."

            "Was there any indication where they were headed?" Mac asks, trying to get the conversation back on track.

            Duncan swallows nervously.  "No ma'am.  Which means we're going to have to just wait and see where Sadik turns up next."

            ***

            Gary stares at him in disbelief.  "How did you get yourself in that situation?" he asks.

            "It's a long story."

            "I'm not going anywhere and by the looks of things, neither are you," Gary comments pointedly staring at the restraints Harm has all but given up on trying to get out of.  "Besides, it's a long flight.  It'll give us something to occupy the time."

            It might take his mind off his current predicament—and hopefully his discomfort; Harm acquiesces to the request.  He begins with the death of Loren Singer, briefly explaining why he hadn't seen Mac in some time before she left.  Gary recognizes the name of the CIA agent Harm mentions, but holds his questions and comments until the younger man is done.  Harm covers Paraguay in detail, skipping a few inconsequential details about the mission and most of the details of that lack of communication between Mac and him. When he gets to the return to DC, he pauses and asks Gary if he has any questions.

            "Why didn't you just tell her you resigned?"

            "It didn't seem important in the midst of getting her and Webb away from Sadik, and after, well we barely stopped and neither of us had the energy for conversation."

            'Nice feint,' Gary muses silently.  "I had wondered how you knew about Webb.  Guess this answers that question."

            "Although I was upset with him for dragging Mac into the mess he made, I've known him as long as I've known Mac and I couldn't just leave him behind, no matter how much trouble he's gotten Mac and I into over the years."

            "Wait, you asked if Sadik were interested in another man and woman—that would be Mac and Webb, wouldn't it?"

            "Yeah," Harm agrees reluctantly.  "I wanted to make sure Sadik wasn't after them as well.  They developed a pretty powerful bond during their time together—I would certainly want them warned if Sadik was after either of them.

            "From what I saw, the two of you had a pretty powerful bond of your own.  Why else would she agree to allow you to pilot a Tomcat with her in the back seat?  I'm guessing she didn't know she'd react so badly to the flight."

            Harm's mind flashes back to the stiff formality she extended to him on the ship.  "It couldn't have been that strong, she barely acknowledged my presence on the ship.  Had I not been promoted, she might have ignored me all together."

            "What changed?"

            Harm picks up the story where he left off.  He explains about being rushed to Langley and separated for debriefing, he even tells him about the offer of a job from Kershaw.  He tells Gary about arriving home late, checking his messages and the call he placed to AJ.  Confusion begins to spread across Gary's face, until Harm describes the visitor who showed up a short time later and the ultimatum that was delivered.  

            "You just gave in and left everything behind?" Gary asks, stunned.

            "I didn't feel as though I had a choice.  Kershaw wanted me as a field agent—I couldn't set aside my principles for that.  I'd been in the Navy my entire adult life; I didn't really know what else I could do.  Had I known then what I know now, I still would have made the same decisions.  The only regret I have is losing the friendships I had with the people at JAG—my team is great, but it's not the same."

            "It's hard to form friendships with those under your direct command," Gary comments.  "Even harder to take their advice when you'd like nothing more than to prove them wrong.  Thank you for pointing out what I needed to do before anyone else paid the price for my stubbornness."  

            "It wasn't an easy thing to do."

            "I would hope not," Gary smiles.  "So what have you been doing for the last 3 years, and how did you catch Sadik's attention with another name?"

            "The name part is the easiest thing to explain.  Sheffield didn't want anyone to track me down and he thought if Harmon Rabb disappeared off the face of the earth that Sadik would forget about me.  "

            "I think it worked for a while.  In the last 3 months, he's become obsessed with finding you and…well, you.  What happened to make Sadik hate your alter ego?"

            Harm gives a brief overview of the training he endured for the first year.  He then provides a general overview of the types of missions he and his team undertook, avoiding details.  Finally, he describes the mission that brought him back into Sadik's radar, spelling out everything that happened.  "How is it you didn't know anything about what he was doing?" 

            "I wasn't involved in that one.  There was a period of time when Sadik was moving a lot of materials into the training camp you saw.  I spent the better part of two months playing delivery driver.  I didn't even know Sadik had left the country until I was told to meet him at one of the airfields he frequently used."  

            "I wonder if that was when he moved the other aircraft there…do you know?"

            "It must have been.  They weren't there when I was ferrying the supplies over, but when I returned with Sadik a couple of weeks later, the entire camp had moved back to make space for the new aircraft.  And it was on that trip back that I recorded Sadik talking about finding out who you are and outlining a plan to bring both of your personas to him. That's just so strange—you've managed to get on his bad side every time you've come near him."

            "Well don't worry.  I don't intend to let Sadik win this one any more than I let him win the other ones," Harm states confidently.  The conversation ends there, both men losing themselves in their thoughts.  They are so preoccupied with this they don't hear the man from earlier enter the cockpit.  He again ignores Harm to speak to Gary, passing along information from Sadik.  

Once their conversation is finished—he turns to Harm, gives him a smile that churns his stomach and releases him from the restraints.  Harm doesn't get a chance to wonder what he's doing before the man pulls him from his seat by his injured arm nearly causing him to black out.  He doesn't pause for Harm to let the feeling pass; he gives him a push that sends Harm to his knees.  Disgusted, the man grabs the back of the robe and drags him a few feet before Harm manages to get his feet under him.  Being prodded from behind, Harm enters the cargo area of the plane to see Sadik waiting for him, the rest of the men watching with interest.  Sadik smiles menacingly.  "I think it's about time we have another conversation."


	18. Chapter 18

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 18

            AJ leans back in his chair and sighs.  He'd been hoping for a more positive update from Mac although his instincts warned him he probably wouldn't get it—he hates being right at times like these.  Their conversation ended with him ordering her back to JAG—she didn't like that any more than he did.  Now he just needs to decide what to do with the caseload he'd been planning on giving Harm and hopefully he can call it an early day—he hasn't slept in 36 hours.

            "Sir you have a call on line one," the tentative voice of Jennifer Coates comes from his intercom; she's noticed he looks very tired today and hates to disturb him.

            The sight of the blinking light of the phone on hold changing to a steady light is her only acknowledgement he heard her page.  She wonders what went so wrong on his trip to cause not the tension in her CO, the tension from Sturgis and Tiner and Mac's absence.  She thought they were just going to meet with the JAG personnel scattered through the fleet and find out who was chosen to become the filter that took care of the most mundane of the inevitable shipboard problems, who would be responsible for opening investigations into the more serious ones without having to pull staff from other offices—how could that have caused this?

            Sturgis and Tiner ran into court shortly after their arrival; only after Jen reminded them they were due in court.  It's a good thing Mac isn't involved in that particular case, Admiral Morris has been in a bad mood all day and her absence wouldn't have gone over well.  The reason for Morris' foul mood is well known—when Tiner was asked to fill in for a sick Bud Roberts on the recent trip, no one informed him both members of the prosecution team would be absent.  He was assured they would be back in court the next day; he then muttered something that caused the petty officer who overheard the remark to blanch.  The petty officer in question refused to repeat the comment, only saying he hoped he wasn't around if they didn't make it into court.  

            That is only the most recent manifestation of Morris' ire.  The real target of his anger is the officer who took off in the middle of a trial on a personal crusade; fortunately he left enough in the way of notes behind that the entire process didn't have to be restarted.  The whole thing left Morris wishing he'd pushed for that psych eval; AJ confiding he hadn't processed Harm's resignation and would allow him to return to JAG when he returned from Paraguay had Morris wondering if he shouldn't find a way to get a psych eval on the Judge Advocate General himself.  

            The light on the phone goes out.  "Petty Officer Coates, would you let Turner and Tiner know I would like to see them when Admiral Morris recesses for lunch?" AJ asks wearily over the intercom.  "And pull up a list of all non-shipboard JAGs for me.  I need to know where every officer, up through the rank of Captain, is currently stationed."

            'Does he realize just what that's going to take?' Jen asks herself, jotting a quick note to deliver to the two attorneys.  Her other hand is reaching for the intercom to respond when AJ speaks again.

            "Just go ahead and give me the whole list.  I may need to make some personnel changes there anyway," he amends the previous orders.

            This time she manages to hit the intercom.  "Aye sir," she responds. It doesn't make her job any easier or harder to have to include the shipboard JAGs as well; she'd have to review their service records and omit them from the first list.  This way, all she has to do is scan the files for the pertinent information and record it all.  "Do you still want the list restricted to Captain and below?" she asks.

            "Yes."

            Sighing inwardly at the task looming ahead of her—and mentally acknowledging the unspoken ASAP—Jen grabs the coffee mug off her desk, intending to secure a refill after delivering the notes for Turner and Tiner.  She picks up a stack of files she'll need on her way back to her desk, mentally justifying the quick trip away from her duties.  

            She already has a good start on the list when the sound of a clearing throat interrupts her ten minutes later.  She looks up to see Admiral Morris staring at her expectantly.  "What can I do for you sir?" she asks, jumping to her feet.  

            "I'd like to see Admiral Chegwidden, if he's in," he requests.

            Jen quickly scans the bullpen and sees no sign of Turner or Tiner.  "Just a moment sir," she says to Morris.  A finger finds the intercom button again.  "Sir, Admiral Morris would like to see you," she reports.

            A short silence ensues, then, "Send him in."

            Morris doesn't wait for her to repeat the message; he knocks on the door before opening it and stepping inside.

            "What can I do for you?" AJ asks, waving the other man to a seat in front of his desk.  Usually when Morris has a problem with one of his attorneys, he receives a phone call; he can't remember if Morris has ever come to his office before.  It has also been several years since Morris last had a complaint—since Harm left in fact.  

            Morris looks uncomfortable.  "I'm afraid I overreacted a bit yesterday…"

            AJ is confused, but only for a moment.  "Ah, that was my fault.  I didn't even think when I asked Tiner to accompany me to the carrier—I was a bit frustrated at the lack of information I'd received.  I hope you didn't take it out on them today," AJ says hopefully.

            "No, although neither of them seemed like they had their minds in court today.  Just what happened out on that carrier?" Morris asks.

            "The Secretary finally acted on a recommendation I made several years ago; he approved the creation of a FleetJAG position that should cut down on the amount of time the staff here has to spend out of town, which should cut down on the number of missed court appearances—in theory at least."

            "And that was enough to unbalance the prosecutors in a sensitive case?  They looked like they missed a night's sleep."

            "We all did," AJ informs him solemnly.  Morris looks at him in askance but allows him to tell the story at his own pace.  "The SecNav had it all figured out; he even had someone picked for the position.  Imagine my surprise; the man Sheffield picked for the position turns out to be Harmon Rabb, Captain Harmon Rabb."

            "Captain Rabb?  How is it we couldn't find him in the Navy computers three years ago, and now he's a captain?" Morris asks, his ire at the officer in question bubbling to the surface. 

            "He's been in the Navy the whole time.  In order to protect his identity from Sadik, he used an alias.  As to what he's been doing…Sheffield felt his talents were being wasted here at JAG and basically blackmailed him out of JAG."

            "Rabb told you that?" Morris questions with disbelief.

            "No, Sheffield did.  He is firm in his belief he did the right thing.  He's had Harm on black ops missions no one will ever hear about.  I'm not sure I'll ever get a glimpse at his unedited service record.  All the one I was given has in it is basically a listing of his recently awarded medals.  And it just dawned on me that they were most likely all awarded in the last two years, not the last three as I originally thought—he was in training for the first year."

            "Did the SecNav say WHY he wanted Rabb, other than his talents being wasted here?"

            "It seems our former SecNav shared his opinion and left notes to that effect, that must have been enough for him.  Sheffield has never served a day in uniform.  He must have gotten advice from someone on his actions."

            "Who's Rabb's CO?"

            "Sheffield, apparently."

            "Either that or there's someone else pulling the strings behind our esteemed SecNav.  If what you say is true about his service record and recent postings, I can't see how Sheffield could be the one behind it all."

            Both men are thinking along the same lines.  "I don't know how easy it will be to find out who's pulling Sheffield's strings.  Even with an unedited copy of his service record, it's going to be very hard to trace.  Without it, the only place we have to start is Sheffield himself."

            "Can't you just ask Rabb?"  Morris asks.  Somehow this conversation is dulling his anger and causing him to rethink his position with regard to Harm.

            "That's the other half of the news.  Harm flew a mission while he was there; he didn't return.  He was forced down and his plane was destroyed.  He made it to a camp where most of his injuries were treated before Sadik showed up looking for him.  When they threatened the people in the camp, Harm stepped forward and turned himself over to Sadik.  From there the team sent to find him and bring him home followed the trail to a training camp where Sadik had a cargo plane waiting to take off for places unknown."

            "So that's it?"

            "That's the only information I have right now.  Technically, since Sheffield did name him FleetJAG, I should be kept in the loop. Colonel MacKenzie is on her way back now; she's the one who relayed this information to me.  Without her in the area I don't know how much will be passed along to me."

            "Well, I'll see what I can do with the first problem we discussed if you'll keep me up to date on the second," Morris offers.  He's never disliked Harm, just thought the attorney was a little overzealous in his work.

            "That can be arranged.  Now I have a question.  You're here so court has obviously been recessed for lunch; did you lock Turner and Tiner up?  I asked Coates to let them know I wanted to see them once court was recessed."

            Morris smiles for the first time since entering the office.  "I might have had something to do with that," he admits.  "I suggested they get themselves focused for the second half of the day.  I think they headed directly outside from the courtroom; I believe the topic of their discussion was where they could find the most caffeine in a cup of coffee."

            AJ laughs at the thought, he can just see the two officers huddled together discussing coffee.  He could do with some of that caffeine himself he realizes.  "Maybe I should ask them what they decided when they return," he says.  "I'm feeling like I could use some caffeine myself."

            Morris laughs again then sobers.  "AJ I believe this is the first time in more than three years that I have had a complaint about any of your officers.  It's strange that it's taken his presence to disrupt things again."

            "I can honestly say I don't miss the headaches he gave me, but I do miss the dedication and drive he brought to this office.  We all held him to very high standards—himself included—and those standards pushed everyone else to do their best.  I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the way my officers do their jobs, I just feel it was…different when Rabb was here."

            "The passion seems to be missing.  How much of this are you going to announce to the office?"

            "I'd rather not announce anything at all, but somehow, somewhere, someone is going to overhear enough to put two and two together and I'd rather they hear the news from me than having to put it together piecemeal."

            The television has been on in the background.  "Turn that up," Morris requests hurriedly when a scene catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.  

            "Hi.  This is Andrea Greene reporting live from the deck of the aircraft carrier Reprisal.  ZNN has learned that an aircraft launched from this carrier was lost sometime yesterday.  While we have learned none of the pilots stationed aboard the Reprisal were flying the F-14, the Navy has not been forthcoming with the identity of the pilot.  One of our sources also tells us that an officer from the Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps left the ship a short time ago.  One of my colleagues will attempt to track down that officer, while I try to find the story behind the downed pilot."

            AJ mutes the volume once again.  "So much for Sheffield keeping a lid on this whole thing," he comments.  "I have to give her credit though, she made sure to let the public know the pilots stationed on the carrier are all safe; that will ease a lot of minds tonight."

            "Yes, but it will probably mean an uneasy night for the families of most of the rest of the aviators out there," Morris comments.  "If he didn't come from the Reprisal, he had to have come from somewhere."

            "I was told in no uncertain terms Sheffield would make sure Harm's mother was notified.  Until then the whole world is going to be waiting for the outcome of this one."

            "Which one of your officers are they planning on waylaying?" 

            "Colonel MacKenzie.  She remained behind to inform my newest officer I needed to finish the conversation we started.  I think the emergency I was called back for was to get me off the ship so I couldn't corner him; unless someone forgot to mention it after I arrived in the office, there was no emergency."  Both men have been keeping an eye on the television, so as soon as the logo for breaking news flashes on the screen AJ turns the volume back up.  They don't get what they were expecting however.

            "ZNN has just received word that the US Embassy in Lima, Peru has been breeched and unknown persons are holding those inside hostage.  We do not have any reports of casualties or injuries.  We will provide you with updates as they become available."  The reporter segues back into the regular report and AJ once again turns the volume to mute.

            The two officers are stunned at the news.  Why would anyone want to take over the Embassy in Lima?  Morris is still staring at the screen.  "I'd better get back to court or I'll have to hold myself in contempt for being late," he tries to joke.  "I'm sure you need some time to figure out how to warn Colonel MacKenzie that there are vultures on the lookout for her.  Let me know when you're planning on addressing your staff; I'll send mine down so they can all get it together," he suggests.

            "I'll do that," AJ promises.  He points to a large stack of files on his desk.  "I also need to figure out how to get these taken care of without disrupting the efficiency of any of the offices."

            "Better your headache than mine," Morris commiserates.  "Of course, if you have to do too much juggling, it'll probably become my headache as well, so I wish you luck."  With that, Morris exits the room, closing the door just in time to cut off the excited squeal from Coates.


	19. Chapter 19

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 19

            "Where are you going in such a hurry?" McKnight asks Mac as she blows past him on her way out of the comm center.

            "Sorry sir," Mac responds automatically.  "Actually I was on my way to see you.  Admiral Chegwidden would like me back in Washington ASAP."

            "How fast can you be ready?"

            "Fifteen minutes tops, sir," she responds.  All she needs to do it get to her quarters and grab the sea bag she keeps packed at all times.

            "There's a helo on the way to pick up the SecNav.  Be topside in twenty and you've got a ride."

            "I'll be there sir.  Thank you."

            McKnight smiles at her and continues on his way.  It's been a very stressful two days—not at all what he anticipated when he agreed to have the JAG meeting on board.  'Then again,' he muses, 'have I ever heard of anything happening as planned with Harmon Rabb involved?'

            Mac hurries back to her stateroom and grabs her bag.  She takes a moment to ensure the envelope given to her by Lt. Commander Duncan is there.  Just over 12 minutes later she emerges onto the deck to wait for the helo.  She doesn't much like the vest and helmet they are required to wear; looking to her left she spots someone who appears completely disconcerted by them—Sheffield.

            'He must be in a hurry to get back,' Mac muses.  She approaches him cautiously, not at all sure what his mood is—he's even harder to read than Nelson ever was.  "Good afternoon sir."  

            "Colonel MacKenzie, what are you doing up here?" he asks.  Mac notes his rumpled appearance and recalls she's seen him wear the same suit since she arrived; obviously he hadn't planned on staying on board.

            "Admiral Chegwidden ordered me back to DC sir," she explains.  "Captain McKnight said there was room on the helo taking you back."

            Sheffield studies her closely, almost like he's never seen her before. "Tell me something Colonel, why did you remain behind?"

            "Admiral Chegwidden requested that one of us remain here to talk to Captain Rabb when he returned sir," she answers cautiously.

            "Why you and not the lieutenant?"  Sheffield notices her hesitation.  "You may speak freely, we're not on the record here," he assures her.

            "Harm and I were once friends sir.  He saved my life and then just disappeared.  When I saw him I treated him badly and wanted the chance to apologize for my actions.  I should have known he had a good reason for his actions."

            Sheffield mulls that over.  "Do you blame me?" he asks wisely.  "I remind you to speak freely and forget I'm the Secretary of the Navy while you're at it," he instructs.

            "I take responsibility for my own actions," Mac answers quickly.  "And before I knew his reasons for leaving I certainly blamed Harm; although to be fair I believe—now and then—that I am partly to blame for him leaving.  Do I blame you?  Well if you hadn't delivered your ultimatum, Harm would most likely have returned to JAG, so I would have to say yes, you do carry some of the blame, although I acknowledge you probably had your reasons then too."

            "Spoken like a true lawyer.  I did have my reasons and I still do. His team has been my point team since the day they finished their training.  The run-in with Sadik three months ago brought my attention to the fact that Rabb hasn't taken any time off since the day he returned from Paraguay.  I knew he hadn't taken any time during training—after I finished cursing him for making me reschedule the entire project, I admired his dedication.  What I hadn't realized until I received the report from that mission was that while his team was off on leave, Rabb was almost always flying on one mission or another—he filled in countless times for sick aviators.  The only reason it came up at all was because I asked why he hadn't accompanied the rest of the team.  He shrugged it off, and when I asked the same questions of the others they let me know it would have been much more unusual for him to have accompanied them than not.  A little digging showed me that the time he didn't spend in the air he spent studying to keep his lawyering skills current.  When I called him on it, he said it was his way of relaxing."

            "I got the impression those two marines were with him at all times.  How could you have not known what he was up to?" Mac questions.

            "They were assigned primarily as bodyguards."  Mac looks at Sheffield in disbelief.  "Even before the two of you made it out of the jungle, Sadik was attempting to ascertain Rabb's identity.  The CIA station chief let it slip that the man responsible for upsetting his plans was a naval commander.  Once he realized what he had done he clammed up, but the damage was already done.  So I made sure he had a couple of men around at all times in case Sadik somehow determined his identity, then someone suggested having him use an alias while he was training to create a more effective cover.  I didn't want that blown so I made a strong suggestion that he not reveal any information to anyone—and that he not contact any of his former coworkers.  I knew you were a tight-knit group and I didn't want his safety compromised by someone accidentally discussing him in the hearing of the wrong person."

            "And they never reported he didn't take liberty?"

            "That wasn't their job.  Their job was to stick as close to him as possible.  And since they knew I approved of him maintaining his flight status, they didn't report the flights either—they simply stood by until he returned to take up their duties again.  The one time he had to divert, they made sure they were there as soon as possible to meet him."  

            "They practically drug him out of the room yesterday when you were looking for him.  How do you explain that?" she asks.

            Sheffield actually laughs.  "I believe I frightened them when I read them the riot act for leaving him unguarded.  I'm certain Sadik has more pieces in play than any of us is aware of and I'm loathe to take chances with his safety.  They seem to have picked up on his laid back attitude towards his personal safety and have begun acting accordingly."  Mac is silent while she ponders this information.  "Now I have a couple of questions for you," Sheffield mentions.

            While she's unsure what insight she can give she agrees, "Yes sir."

            "Rabb was willing to give up everything to save you; why do you suppose that is?"

            "He would have done the same for any of his friends," Mac hedges.

            "I don't believe so.  He didn't carry a photograph of any of his other 'friends' with him contrary to orders, and I believe he left some items he wanted you to have.  His biggest argument was not being allowed to tell you where he was going.  I had to agree to some of his other demands to get him to agree to mine.  Did Duncan give you anything from Rabb?"  

            "He did, after the second briefing," Mac confirms.

            Sheffield does some mental calculations.  "That would be holding directly to the letter of our agreement," he states ruefully.  "I believe he has them all following his pattern of thinking."

            Further conversation is cut off by the arrival of the helo.  It is only when they are well on their way back to DC that Mac begins to wonder—if Jack and Jerry were tasked with keeping Harm safe, why weren't either of them around when the call came in about the President's daughter?

            ***

            Harm freezes at Sadik's announcement—had he been listening to the conversation he and Gary had?  He wills his expression to that of bored neutrality, but not before the panic and fear is noticed by Sadik.  Sadik files that information away for later.

            "Captain Harmon Rabb Jr., what do your friends call you?" Sadik asks.

            Harm experiences a fleeting sense of déjà vu; the memory is indistinct and blurry, but then again, this time his captor hasn't—yet at least—resorted to drugs to wrest the answers he wants from him.  Harm does not reply.

            "It is a civilized question asked in a civilized manner," Sadik prompts.  "What would be the harm in giving me an answer?"

            "I have no friends," Harm states grimly.  "Therefore I cannot answer your question."  After the way things went when he ran into Mac and Sturgis on the ship his conscience doesn't even twinge slightly at the statement.

            Sadik is taken aback at the comment.  He recovers quickly.  "What about your coworkers?" he asks.

            Harm laughs humorlessly.  "Captain or sir; we're not very chummy."

            "You may think it is funny you are not answering my questions.  I do not find it humorous at all."

            "I don't find the situation humorous in the least," Harm states.  "Just tell me what it is you want from me."  He's beginning to believe this is unrelated to the conversation in the cockpit.

            "No," Sadik yells.  Harm glances at him with a look of confusion on his face; those of Sadik's men who didn't leave the area when Harm was brought back gaze at their leader worriedly; the ones who slipped away to start a friendly card game peek around and over the crates in interest; Gary glances back from the cockpit but quickly gazes forward again—he doesn't want to seem too interested.  "No," Sadik repeats slightly more calmly.  "You will not use your tricks to turn this conversation to your liking.  I will get the answers I want—one way or another."

            Harm plays their other conversations through his mind; Sadik is right, he did turn the conversations his way.  He is loathe to invoke Sadik's wrath—he closes his mouth and waits for the first question.  Whether he's manipulating the conversation or waiting for Sadik to steer it his way, the end results will be the same—Harm will give up very little information.

            Harm's tactic backfires as Sadik becomes enraged when Harm doesn't say anything.  "You will answer my questions," he demands.

            Harm has to stifle another laugh—he's positive Sadik wouldn't appreciate it this time either.  "What question would that be?" he asks mildly.

            With a roar Sadik lunges at Harm, landing a couple of blows that make Harm see stars before his men manage to pull him away.  "Get him out of here," one of the men orders.  Two of the men standing on the sidelines quickly comply with the order, yanking Harm to his feet and back to the cockpit.  Harm never even got his good hand up to defend himself but the two men are anxious to get back to Sadik—they roughly strap him back in, pulling the restraints tighter than necessary after pinning his right arm behind him.  It's all happened so fast, Harm still hasn't cleared the stars from his vision before he's once again helpless.

            "What happened back there?" Gary asks once the two men have left.

            Harm closes his eyes and centers his thoughts.  "Sadik seems a little unbalanced; he demanded an answer to a question he never asked.  When I asked for clarification, he lost it."

            "Lost it?" Gary echoes, eyeing the rapidly forming bruises on Harm's sun burnt face.  "I'm beginning to have second thoughts about leaving you with him," he says.

            "I'd much rather you get clear and send help than be stuck with me," Harm argues.  "I think I've frustrated the man one too many times."

            "If you're sure…" Gary says uncertainly.

            "I'm sure.  If I can keep him unbalanced long enough he won't realize what he has right under his nose until it's too late—provided you can set the ball rolling to let someone know where I am.  I'm pretty certain they won't find out anything from those at the camp, if they even were able to follow my trail there.  And right now I doubt Sadik is going to announce my presence once he gets me to wherever it is he's planning on taking me.  If it's not my team, one of the others will come after me and I intend to do everything I can to make their jobs easier.  So don't worry about me, I know what I'm doing and have been trained to do it.  Just get yourself clear."  It's a little strange for Harm to deliver basically the same speech twice in two days, but he'd rather only have himself to worry about; too many people involved and the outcome becomes more complicated and uncertain.

            Gary listens to the argument and agrees it has merit.  "Since you insist so eloquently, I will do as you ask," he gives in.  

            "Thanks," Harm responds without smiling.  "Now, can you tell me who the tall guy is?  He seemed to take charge when Sadik decided to use me as a punching bag."

            "That would be Sadik's son, although I have yet to find out his name.  He's generally in charge when Sadik's not around."

            "Makes sense, they look somewhat alike.  Do you know why he didn't remain behind with his aircraft?"

            "It was one of the two that were damaged.  Estimates were at least a week to fix it.  I suppose Sadik decided it would be worth it to have him along."

            "Well, I'll have to thank him.  He's the one who pulled Sadik off me."  Harm struggles against the restraints.  "And I thought these were tight the first time," he comments.  "How long until we land?"

            "I'd have say about another 30 minutes or so.  One of Sadik's men should be coming up any minute to start the process of getting clearance to land.  I don't speak the language," Gary explains, anticipating Harm's question.

            Sure enough, someone steps up between them a few minutes later and grabs the headset for the copilot.  Harm schools his features to show a look of defeat and surreptitiously looks up to check out the newcomer.  His gaze catches the hard eyes of the man they've identified as Sadik's son.  There is no denying the relationship; their eyes are exactly the same.  Harm estimates the man to be in his early twenties; the son's features are a slightly softer version of his father's with the exception of his mouth—he must have gotten that from his mother.  It is fuller, made for smiling although it is currently drawn into a tight line.

            Harm hopes his don't betray him as their eyes remain locked on the other through the terse conversation no one has any idea Harm can understand between the son and someone on the ground.  Even when relaying the necessary information about the landing strip 20 away from the city Sadik wants to land at to Gary, their gazes don't wander—neither man wants to be the first to look away.  Harm eventually succumbs to the stresses of the last several days; his sight turns hazy before he reluctantly closes his eyes.  It doesn't feel as though it should be anticlimactic, but approaching the landing point has suddenly sapped all the adrenaline and energy that had been coursing through his body.  He slumps against the too-tight restraints, the only indication of the move being the slight dropping of this right shoulder and the bowing of his head.  It could have been hours or minutes later that Harm feels the restraints loosened slightly.  "Thank you," he rasps out, forcing his eyes open to acknowledge his benefactor, more than slightly surprised when he finds himself once again gazing into the eyes of his antagonist's son.

            ***

            Lieutenant Bud Roberts, minus uniform, enters the bullpen at the same time Jennifer Coates' excited squeal peals through the room.  All work immediately ceases as the entire staff crane their necks to see the source of the unusual sound.  Just as quickly, work resumes as they catch sight of the officer departing their CO's office.  Admiral Morris strides quickly across the bullpen, attempting to keep the smile he feels coming at the outburst off his face.  He nods to Bud and nearly breaks into a run as he nears the double doors.  Bud swears he hears a burst of laughter before the doors shut fully.

            Curious as to the reason for the outburst, Bud deviates from the intended target of his office to Coates' desk.  She is grinning widely at something shown on her computer screen, oblivious to his approach.  He clears his voice and then repeats the action more loudly when the first one draws no response.  "Ah, sir, Lt. Roberts, what are you doing here sir?  You're supposed to be out sick" Jen stammers and jumps to her feet.

            Bud waves her back to her seat.  "I wanted to pick up a couple of case files to work on tonight.  I have court first thing tomorrow morning and don't have the files at home I need to prepare."  He looks at her curiously.  "What was that performance a minute ago?"

            Jen blushes bright red.  "I got a little overexcited when I found something in the personnel records I'm preparing for the admiral," she explains.

            "What would that be?" Bud asks tolerantly.  

            Jen waves him around her desk.  "Come over here and look for yourself," she invites.

            Intrigued, Bud complies.  Jen scrolls up to the top of the file and shows him the name:  Captain Harmon Rabb Jr.

            Bud's jaw drops at the sight before him.  "What does it say?" he asks eagerly.

            "Nothing really," Jen reports morosely.  "It doesn't even list his specific duty assignment, just that he's assigned to JAG."

            "Maybe the admiral will know where he's at," Bud suggests.

            "He's not really in a very good mood today," Jen warns Bud.  "He and Lt. Tiner and Commander Turner looked like they just stepped off the COD when they arrived this morning.  Something's bothering them but I don't know what."

            "I wonder if they know about this," Bud indicates the computer screen.  "Wait, didn't Colonel MacKenzie come in today?"  
  


            "The admiral said she remained behind on the Reprisal.  She called a short time ago and he ordered her home.  His mood seemed to get worse after that."

            "I guess it wouldn't be a good idea to try to speak to him now," Bud concludes.

            "Not today," Jen agrees.  "Do you want me to schedule you for a meeting tomorrow?" she asks.

            Bud considers the offer for a minute.  "Maybe I'll try to corner Tiner; he can't dodge my questions the way the admiral can," he decides.  "If that backfires and I can't get anything out of Colonel MacKenzie—who am I trying to kid?—I'll take you up on that offer."

            "Yes sir."

            Still intensely curious but bowing to the wisdom of not bothering AJ if he's not in a good mood—it's even dicey when he is in a good mood—Bud wanders to his office to retrieve the files he came in for.  It's a good thing they are right where he thought he left them, Harriet is waiting for him at home and not expecting him to be long.

            Jen continues her list, smiling occasionally when she thinks back on the unexpected addition.  Before long, the list is complete and she relays that information to AJ.

            "That was fast, Petty Officer, thank you," AJ remarks when she presents the papers to him.  She beams at the unexpected praise and waits for him to finish the quick perusal he does out of habit before dismissing her.  She is watching him closely and is rewarded with seeing the genuine surprise on his face when—she believes—he comes across the special addition.  "That will be all Petty Officer," he dismisses her.


	20. Chapter 20

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 20

Sarah,

            Once again I am reminded I have no right to call you that, but since these are my thoughts I decided I should address you as I see you.

            The last three weeks have passed very quickly.  When I last wrote, I wasn't aware just how much things were going to change.  It's a good thing I gave in to the flagging needs of my system and slept; barely six hours after unceremoniously installing me in that small hotel room my two shadows practically broke down the door to inform me we were having breakfast in 15 minutes, and I'd be there whether I was ready or not.  Let me tell you, that short nap did wonders for my alertness although it did little to relieve the fatigue that has been plaguing me since the day you announced you were going to Paraguay with Webb.

            I began having trouble sleeping almost as soon as you left.  It would take me forever to fall asleep, and then once I finally would, the nightmares began.  I saw you and Webb killed every night; I'd wake up, realize it was all a dream but have to give up any notion of going back to sleep as I was too worried it wasn't just a dream.  Every night I would try and every night I would fail.  It was almost a relief when the admiral told me you were missing.  The nightmares I could do nothing about; somehow I knew I could find you if I could just get to Paraguay.  I will always be thankful Gunny and I found you and Webb, although I will always wish we could have gotten there sooner.

            Except for the first day when I was practically ordered to bed by a Gunnery Sergeant—I'll get to that in a bit—I haven't had the opportunity to reclaim any of that missed sleep.  Following a quick breakfast we again piled into the car; I think that stop was really more for Sheffield to have time to get things set up than for my benefit—we arrived in Quantico a short time later.  Sheffield was waiting for us; he introduced me to the men who were to become the members of my team:

            Lt. Commander Ian Duncan—second in charge.  Newly promoted, he's a little green but I do believe there is potential there.

            Lt. Albert Sharpe—specializes in communications.  He's the only other officer on the team.

            Chief Petty Officer James Standes—fully qualified Navy SeAL.  He's the corpsman.

            Petty Officer First Class Howard Paine—he specializes in procurement.  He claims he can get whatever we need for anything.

            Gunnery Sergeant Walter Kivers—Recon Marine.  He's the weapon's officer, qualified with just about every conceivable weapon (he's good, but not really a master in any).

            Corporals Jack Hercules & Jerry Titan—my shadows.  One of them is always on my six with the other close by.

            Sheffield introduced me to the team as Commander Jackson Post; at least I get to maintain my rank through all of this.  I'm not sure if the name is a coincidence or he somehow found out about the time I spent undercover as a Recon Marine.            

            Once the introductions were over, my team was sent to be evaluated by the trainer.  Sheffield outlined the ground rules for my new identity and we did some haggling over the fine points.  When we finally came to an agreement, we joined my team on the range.  It was there that some of Sheffield's carefully laid plans went awry.

            Gunnery Sergeant Crockett remembered me (I guess since he had forgotten the admiral he'd better remember me).  And he told Sheffield in no uncertain terms that I was going to be his star pupil, not one of the members of my team.  Sheffield protested he hadn't even seen me hold much less fire a weapon.  It was then that Crockett took Sheffield aside and informed him of our previous encounter.  I didn't find this out until later; all I know was I was on the receiving end of some pretty strange looks from Sheffield for a while—when I finally heard the whole story at the end of my training, everything made sense.  Anyway, after getting Sheffield to see his point of view, Crockett promptly ordered me to get some rest so I would be alert when training started—I wouldn't be getting any make-up sleep once we began.

            Sharpe was the only other team member Crockett chose for training (as I mentioned, Kivers was qualified on most weapons, but not a master—Crockett thought Sharpe had more potential).  Oddly enough, none of the members of my team had ever been trained as snipers; it's a learning experience I'll not soon forget.  Jack and Jerry chose to stick around; they acted as spotters for Sharpe and me and were very careful not to get in Crockett's way.

            Sheffield appeared a couple of days ago to let me know we were due for our next scheduled training in week, three days after our training here was to be done. That started another argument—I told him I wanted to continue training immediately, he thought we needed some time off.  I know you really aren't supposed to argue with your superiors, but I couldn't help myself—I want this training over as soon as possible.  Since I absolutely refused to back down, Sheffield eventually did.  That said, training just finished today with Crockett announcing he is satisfied with our progress.  We leave in the morning for the next phase—I haven't been told what it is going to be, but since Sheffield seems so smug about it I'm sure I'm not going to like it.

            ***

            The sound of a throat being cleared pulls Mac's attention from the letter.  She looks up to see Sheffield watching her intently.  "Since that seems to be so funny I only wish I had thought to require Rabb to give me a duplicate," he comments.  She can feel her cheeks growing warm.  "I did blunder my way through those first few months.  I wanted him involved but out of the line of fire.  A friend warned me it wouldn't be possible but I was determined to have things my way.  My first conversation with Gunnery Sergeant Crockett made me realize my friend knew what he was talking about.  I naively thought he'd be able to direct them from the sidelines."

            "What exactly changed your mind?"

            "He pointed out I was being unfair to everyone—including myself—if I didn't allow the most qualified person to do the job.  I'm glad I did; they make an unbeatable team."  He pulls a thick folder out of his briefcase and hands it to her.  "Give this to AJ for me.  The two of you may look over it together, but I don't want it going any farther."

            Mac indicates the cover.  "May I?" she asks.  Sheffield nods and she opens it to reveal the first page of Harm's service record.  

            "It's a direct copy of mine—no omissions."

            "Forgive my boldness, but why give this to us?" she asks.

            "I figure Webb will probably be trying to wrangle you a copy soon anyway.  And when Rabb returns I'm going to stick him back in AJ's direct command until he's completely cleared for duty; you should have an idea of what he's been doing for the last three years," Sheffield answers diplomatically.

            "In other words, he's still as impulsive as he ever was but the time in special ops has changed him in other ways," Mac surmises.

            "He appeared more open when he was working at Headquarters.  And it disturbs me he has gone to such great lengths to not take leave."

            "Harm has always kept things to himself; he's a very private person.  And he's always been very dedicated to his job—he was always putting in extra hours and helping whoever he might come across who needed help.  You know that case he judged?  Well he was the one who found the truth and he was up all night doing so, not even knowing if he could legally share the information once he found it.  He also holds to his principles and I know it pained him greatly to ground that pilot even though it was the right thing to do.  He's always gone above and beyond the call of duty; it's easier to hide in the mundanity of the courtroom than it is in the field."

            "I suppose you're right.  As long as he could hide the tell-tale signs of lack of sleep from you all, no one would ever know he was putting in extra hours," Sheffield concedes.  

            They sit in silence with their respective thoughts until the pilot informs them they are near their destination.  Mac tucks the folders into her bag in preparation for their arrival.  Sheffield double checks his harness and Mac realizes he's not only uncomfortable with the gear, he's also uncomfortable flying.  Briefly she wonders if Harm is aware of that fact about his boss.

            Mac is out of the helo as soon as the crew says it's safe.  She has her cell phone in hand and turned on as soon as her feet hit the tarmac.  It only takes a moment for the message icon to pop up, accompanied by the tone that alerts her to the icon.  Frowning, she dials the number to pick up her voicemail messages—she wasn't expecting any calls.  She retains her composure through the message and immediately begins scanning for the reporters.  Noticing a news van approaching the helo, she sticks her head back in to warn Sheffield.  "Do you have a vehicle here?" he asks pointedly.

            "No sir."

            He points to an approaching car that will arrive just before the news van.  "I'll drop you off," he offers.  "I need to make a statement to the press, but you'll probably want to get out of the line of fire."

            "Thank you sir."  Tossing her dignity to the wind, Mac scrambles for the car and is in almost before it stops.  The news crew doesn't even see her; their sights are set on Sheffield and they're not close enough to determine who jumped into the car.  

            Fifteen minutes later, Sheffield joins her at a much more sedate pace than her entrance to the vehicle.  "I told them we already dropped you off," he confides with a smile.  "They were disappointed, but only for the moment.  Now, would you like me to drop you at your home or at JAG?" 

            Mac consults her internal clock.  "JAG please.  I'd like to report in and my car is there."  Sheffield gives the driver their destination and leans back to enjoy the ride.  Something has been nagging at Mac and she decides to go ahead and bring it up.  "Sir, what are you going to do with Harm's team?" she asks.

            He's been pondering the situation on his own.  "Until we get Rabb back, they're going to stay where they are.  I'm sure they'll want to be involved when we find out where he is.  After that I don't know what I'll come up with," he admits.  

            "You would let them in on a rescue attempt?" she questions.

            "If they are close enough, I'd almost require it.  The rest of the teams might respect Rabb but I know his team will stop at nothing to be there—much like their leader," he says ruefully.  "And they'll find any messages he might have left behind should he be moved before they can get there.  They know how he thinks; that's why I would want them on the rescue."

            "I can't argue with your logic, sir."

            The rest of the ride passes with small talk.  Before long, the car pulls up outside JAG Headquarters.  Thanking Sheffield for the ride, Mac gathers her belongings and heads directly inside.  She doesn't miss the news van that has followed them from Andrews, thinking the occupants are probably frustrated she evaded them earlier.  Smiling she heads inside; she wants to make her report to AJ and head home for an evening's rest.  Little does she know that is going to be delayed for a few hours.


	21. Chapter 21

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 21

            The landing is perfect textbook—if you don't count the steep angle of approach and the numerous bumps from the landing strip that can barely be called that.  From the conversation he overheard, Harm knows some of Sadik's men will be there to meet them shortly.  Fasal, as he identified himself to those on the other end, instructed them to have things ready for their prisoner; Harm didn't like the sound of that.

            Gary taxies to the end of the strip, turns the plane to be ready for takeoff and shuts down the engines.  From his vantage point in the cockpit Harm can see two jeeps and two trucks approach the aircraft.  A commotion ensues in the back of the plane and a few minutes later two of the men enter to speak to Gary.  Harm can hear nothing of the whispered conversation.  Once again when they're through talking to Gary they turn to Harm.

            The one looks to be barely 15; he stares at Harm with contempt in his eyes as he frees him from the restraints.  Harm stumbles to his feet before they can pull on his left arm; the right one begins to wake and Harm clenches his jaw until it aches more than his injuries and the arm that is awakening.

            Fasal is directing the unloading of the plane into the larger truck.  Occasionally one of the smaller boxes is placed into one of the jeeps or the smaller soft-sided truck at his direction.  Harm stands by and watches the temporary organization of supplies, for while Fasal would like to put him to work, he's already determined it would be highly inefficient to put an essentially one-armed man to work carrying heavy boxes.

            The light slowly bleeds away, the late afternoon sun fading through twilight to the dark of night.  The light of the full moon illuminates the loading of the last of the boxes and suddenly Sadik rejoins the group.  Fasal and his father engage in a short conversation before everyone scurries for the best seats available—the drivers wait until their respective vehicles are at capacity before resuming their earlier seats.  Harm, who has allowed his mind to wander while watching the loading, is steered roughly to the smaller truck, all but tossed inside and forcibly seated on the floor.  Sadik is the last one to climb in the back of the truck; he's not ready to advertise he's in the area.

            For the next 25 minutes the truck winds and bounces along a trail that can only have been created by following a snake.  The men seated on the narrow benches are able to brace themselves against the bouncing; Harm, seated on the floor with nothing to brace against, is not as fortunate.  His body, already protesting from the explosion of the two aircraft, the fall from the horse and any of a number of aches, pains and bruises from the journey, is getting even more battered and bruised.  A particularly nasty bump throws Harm's leftwards into an open spot on one of the benches; he is concerned to find he barely feels the contact at all.  Hesitantly he attempts to block the other hurts out of his mind and concentrate on the one that should be dominating his thoughts.  When he fails to find what he's searching for he switches his concentration to trying to make the fingers on his left hand move…without success.  Before panic can creep in Harm justifies his failure is due to the wrapping keeping his arm idle—he puts forth the argument that the inactivity had merely put that limb to sleep as it did his right in the plane.  He has to admit the argument falls flat and worry begins to seep in to his awareness.  

            When they finally stop it only takes a moment for Harm to realize it is a temporary situation.  Two of the truck's passengers engage in a brief conversation with Sadik before exiting the vehicle.  Grunts and groans can be heard from outside, causing Harm to believe they are unloading some of the supplies from the other truck.  Since they knew ahead of time what items were being dropped here and what were needed at their ultimate destination and loaded accordingly, it only takes a few minutes to complete the unloading.  Two men Harm hasn't seen before climb aboard followed closely by Fasal—apparently the jeeps are not traveling any farther.  With an inaudible sigh, Harm mentally sets himself for another uncomfortable ride as the truck begins to move once again.

            ***

            For the first time in three years Mac stops before entering the busy bullpen and simply takes in everything going on in the large room.  There have been any number of changes in the last several years, from the orientation of the desks and other furniture in the middle of the area to the personnel changes, both in those seated at the desks in the bullpen as well as the more subtle changes of the occupants situated off the main floor.

            ***

            When AJ angrily forced himself to admit Harm wasn't going to return to JAG, he made the comment that he wanted the office of his former top attorney cleaned out ASAP.  Rather than leaving it to one of the petty officers, Mac and Harriet had quickly volunteered for the task.  

            By 1830 both women had wrapped up their work for the day.  Having asked for and received the key to the office from AJ, Mac apprehensively unlocked the door to Harm's office and shoved it open.  The blinds to the bullpen were closed, which was not at all unusual—they all closed their blinds when they required privacy or didn't want to be disturbed—what was unusual was the blinds on the outside window were also closed, darkening the room despite the summer sun that was still high in the sky.  Mac snapped on the light and stopped abruptly, she was expecting to see the office in the condition she was accustomed to seeing it in.  Her first glance made her realize Harm hadn't finished unpacking the boxes that were returned after the NCIS investigation into Singer's death.  While it appeared by the empty boxes stacked along the one wall that Harm had been working on getting the office back in order, it looked like he had concentrated on the necessary items first—none of his personal belongings had been unpacked at all.  Taking a look at the box on the top of the 'full' stack, Mac let out a cry of dismay upon finding the picture of Harm and her at AJ's christening.  

            "Ma'am, what's wrong?" Harriet asked.

            Mac waved her hand around the room.  "He never unpacked any of his things," she told the younger woman.

            "He was pretty busy while you were gone; I know he stayed late most nights—I guess he was doing a lot of extra work.  I didn't come in here long enough to see what he was doing," Harriet admitted remorsefully.  "He cheered me up and I didn't even think to wonder how he was doing," she berated herself.

            "You know Harm has always been a very private person; I don't think he'd ever willingly let anyone know if he wasn't happy."

            "But as his friend I should have known.  I should have seen something was wrong and offered to help."

            "Harriet, don't beat yourself up over this," Mac warned.

            "But if I had known and done something to help he would have come back."

            "Harriet, it's not your fault.  He obviously made his own decision.  He's even already moved out of his loft; if he'd been planning on coming back, I don't think he'd have moved," Mac stated angrily.  "In fact, he must have done the packing before he left for Paraguay.  I don't know how he could have gotten out so quickly otherwise."

            Harriet agreed reluctantly.  "He was distant before he left.  I just wonder why he didn't take these things with him when he went."

            "Probably didn't want to make anyone suspicious," Mac said snidely—she hid the hurt of him leaving so abruptly behind her anger.  "Let's see if there's anything other than his personal belongings in these remaining boxes.  If there isn't, we'll just take them and put them in the storage closet for now."

            "Yes ma'am."  The two suited actions to words and in a few minutes found there wasn't anything but Harm's personal items in the boxes that hadn't yet been unpacked.  Mac got a dolly and wheeled them to the storage closet where she placed them into the back corner and shut the door.  

            ***

            As she makes her way to her office her eyes drift to the closet where the boxes remain today.  Once or twice she'd thought about doing something else with them, but could never bring herself to remove them from the building—almost as if she thought removing the boxes would mean she was admitting he was never coming back.  Over the years her anger grew, fighting with the longing she felt for her friend.  It was the anger that won out on the ship—until she learned the reasons behind his actions.  Immediately the anger disappeared and the need to talk to and see her friend took its place—she can only hope she'll get that chance.  

            She almost makes it to her office without being seen—Jen looks up from her current assignment to see Mac enter the small room.  She wants to share her news with someone and thinks—even though he's been a taboo subject—Mac would like to hear about her former partner.  Her knock is met with a quiet command to enter and she does so, slipping in quickly and shutting the door behind her.  

            "Ma'am, I have to tell you what I found," Jen enthuses.

            "What is it?" Mac asks.

            "I was working on a project for Admiral Chegwidden; he wanted a list of all JAG's and their duty stations. I was so surprised when I saw Commander, well Captain now, Rabb's name there," Jen confides excitedly.

            Mac looks up sharply.  "Did the admiral say anything about it?" she asks.

            "No ma'am.  He just looked over the list like he usually does and dismissed me.  You already knew about it, didn't you?" Jen accuses.

            "Yes," Mac admits.  "Until Admiral Chegwidden or I tell you otherwise, I want you to keep this information to yourself Petty Officer Coates," she says formally.

            "But I've already told Lieutenant Roberts."

            "Wasn't Bud supposed to be on sick call today?" 

            "Yes ma'am.  He stopped by to pick up some files for court tomorrow.  He said he's feeling much better.  Anyway, he must have arrived when I found Co…Captain Rabb's name because, well, I think I screamed and he wanted to know what was wrong."

            Mac sighs.  "I hope the SecNav gives the admiral permission to reveal the whole story soon.  Keeping this under wraps just isn't going to work," she mutters to herself.  

            "Keeping what under wraps?" Jen asks.

            Mac is a bit startled at the question.  She hadn't meant to say that out loud.  "Forget I said that," Mac orders.  "I mean it," she reiterates when Jen looks like she wants to protest.  

            "Yes ma'am."

            Mac suddenly remembers the letters and the file in her bag.  "Could you let the admiral know I need to see him when he has a minute?" she asks.  

            Jen recognizes the dismissal for what it is.  Somewhat deflated, she crosses the bullpen back to AJ's outer office and repeats Mac's request.  AJ is surprised she made it back from the _Reprisal_ so quickly; he agrees to see her immediately.  Jen relays the message and tells Mac to go on in when she arrives clutching a large envelope and thick file a very short moment later.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N:  A thank you to all who have read and reviewed up to this point; your comments and interest help to keep me writing.  I don't post on anything remotely close to a regular schedule because I don't write on a regular schedule; I don't write on a regular schedule because I don't work a regular schedule.  

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 22

            The second part of the ride is a little more pleasant than the first—at least after the first ten minutes.  It takes that long to reach the main roadway leading to Lima, but once they do the ride is swifter and smoother.

            Sadik and Fasal converse quietly with frequent glances at their captive during the ride.  Harm grows more nervous as the looks from Sadik linger longer and become laced with more anger and contempt.  The two new guys soon get caught up in the conversation, apparently filling the two leaders in on the current happenings as Sadik seems to lose interest in intimidating Harm.  The volume eventually escalates and soon everyone is joining in on the conversation; they are unfortunately speaking in a language Harm hasn't learned—although it does sound vaguely familiar—so he wraps his good arm around his knees, lowers his head to rest upon them and wishes he were anywhere but here.

            Once they reach the main road the trip takes another 30 minutes.  The city is quiet and Sadik's men must have been waiting for them because they don't stop until they are on the embassy grounds.  Once there, the largest box is opened and dark hats and coats are distributed among the men before they exit the truck.  Someone behind him places one of the hats on Harm's head and wraps a coat around his shoulders before nudging him to his feet.  Harm manages to slide out of the truck and somehow keep his feet following the jarring landing.  There are no lights on outside and only the wan light of the moon, now hiding behind clouds that promise rain to come, lets him see just enough to keep him from tripping over anything.  The bright lights of the room he is led to blind him for a moment; he doesn't see the foot one of his captors sticks out in his path—he's falling before he knows it and hits the floor before he can put out a hand to break the fall. The laughter of the men can be heard as the door is closed and locked behind them.

            Sleepy voices begin talking as soon as the laughs of those outside fade away:  "Who is it?", "What should we do?", "What are they up to?"  These first voices sound like young men just beginning in life; idealistic and uncertain.  

            "Jeffers, get your bag," an older sounding—and vaguely familiar—voice orders.

            "What are you planning?" a decidedly feminine voice asks—it too sounds vaguely familiar.

            "We can't just leave him on the concrete, ma'am," the older male answers.  Harm guesses he's the one in charge.  The whisper of unshod feet floats in Harm's ears.  He can feel someone close, but still doesn't open his eyes.  A sharp intake of breath followed by, "Jeffers, hurry; he's bleeding."

            "Do you think he had a falling out with his compatriots?" a younger female voice asks—Harm's sure he's heard that voice before.

            "We don't know for sure he's one of them," the one in charge points out. "He's definitely too tall to be one of the ones who surprised us; none of them were taller than Jeffers, and he's only 5 foot 9."

            "I wonder just how tall he is," the older female muses.  "His clothes don't seem to match theirs either."

            Harm finally places the three familiar sounding voices.  Groaning in protest, he attempts to lever himself to a sitting position.  "6 foot 4, it's not from my usual tailor and I still don't think platinum's my color," he says quietly.  He manages to sit up by the end of the sentence and those who have jumped back—the ones he's pegged as the younger men—stop abruptly and stare at him with their mouths hanging open.

            "You're an American?" one of the younger men says incredously.

            "Harm?" Meg questions joyously at the same time.

            "Lieutenant Rabb?" Ambassador DeLong asks a bit stunned on the heels of the other two.

            Harm gives them as much of a grin as he can manage.  "Yes, I'm an American," he tells the young man.  "I'm not sure I should say it's good to see you under the circumstances, but it is anyway," he says to Meg.  "Ma'am, I haven't been a lieutenant in quite a few years, but you are essentially correct.  Please forgive me for not getting up, I don't think I can manage it myself right now," he explains for his lack of protocol in greeting her.

            That seems to break everyone out of their stupor.  "That's quite all right…if you're not a lieutenant, what are you?" DeLong queries.

            "Captain, ma'am."  There are a few surprised looks at this answer.

            "Thank you Captain.  And it's quite all right; I can't imagine the lieutenant I remember being deliberately disrespectful.  Let Corporal Jeffers take a look at your shoulder and then you can tell us what you're doing here," DeLong suggests.  

            Jeffers looks ready to begin but Harm stops him and gestures toward the back of the room.  "Have they let you retain the use of the showers?" he asks.

            "We haven't had contact with anyone sir, but yeah, we can still use the showers," Gunnery Sergeant Parr offers.

            Harm looks down at the clothes Danib provided him with.  "I'm sure you can't do anything about the pants—and these don't seem too bad—but if someone could lend me a clean shirt, I'd be very grateful.  And I'd really like a crack at that shower before the corporal gets involved.  Would that be possible?" he asks.

            "That's probably a good idea," DeLong agrees tactfully.  She takes a look at the tired faces around her.  "Go ahead and clean up, have Corporal Jeffers take a look at your shoulder and grab a couple of hours of sleep," she says, not entirely faking the yawn that cuts her off.  "We can talk in the morning."

            "Thank you ma'am," Harm says sincerely.  He's looking forward to some rack time—and hoping he'll be able to sleep this time.  

            DeLong and Meg, who's just bursting with questions, retreat to one of the bunks.  Meg quickly climbs into the top, leaving the ambassador the bottom one.  Parr follows Harm's line of sight.  "Sir, would you prefer a top or bottom bunk?" he asks.

            "I'd prefer the top but I'm going to need a bottom one," Harm answers regretfully.  

Parr gives him a confused glance and points to one of the bunks. "You can take that one, sir," he informs the exhausted officer.  "But if you really want a top one, one of us will switch," he offers, thinking Harm is taking the bottom just because it's the one open.

            Harm struggles to his feet.  "No, that one is fine," he says.  Two steps later he nearly collapses and Parr understands.  

            Jeffers jumps up and keeps him upright.  "Sir, this probably won't sound right, but do you need any help with your shower?" he asks quietly.  "I was a nurse before I joined the corps."

            Harm mulls the offer over for all of about two seconds.  "I would appreciate your help Corporal," he agrees, surprising himself and Jeffers.  'Well, it's better than collapsing in the shower and them having to drag you out,' he tells himself.  An unseen Marine tosses a shirt their way as they slowly head for the shower.  "Thanks," Harm calls to his benefactor.

            "You're welcome, sir," comes the reply.  "I just hope it fits."

            The shower isn't as awkward as it could have been; afterwards Jeffers checks, cleans and bandages each of the more minor wounds before tackling Harm's shoulder.  "There's still something in there," he tells Harm after a few minutes.

            "I know.  Just leave it."

            "But sir, there's already an infection started," Jeffers protests.  "And that must hurt like crazy."

            "Actually I don't feel it much at all," Harm admits.  

            "How long has it been there?" Jeffers asks.  

            "I don't know for sure, I've traveled too many time zones lately to even know what day it is.  Best guess would be 36 to 48 hours.  It's been in there that long, it can stay there until we get out of here," Harm says firmly.

            Jeffers swallows his argument and cleans and bandages it as best as he can.  "You do realize that by leaving that in there you can be causing more damage than necessary?" he asks quietly.

            "I'm aware of that Corporal.  As an aviator, I know what that could mean to my career.  As an attorney, I absolve you of any culpability in the amount of function or lack thereof I end up with.  As an officer, I ask you to respect my wishes.  And as a person, I ask you to not feel any guilt—it's my decision, one I haven't made lightly."

            "I don't know about the guilt part, sir.  I can't help but feel guilty if I don't do anything about something I believe I can fix."

            "Not too long after I was injured a gentleman—a doctor—did try to help.  He treated the burns and removed a piece of metal from my leg.  But he was unable to remove the piece in my shoulder.  Since then several things have happened to drive it deeper.  Since it doesn't hurt much anymore, I'm more content to leave it where it is than have anyone attempt to remove it until we're all out of this mess.  Now if there's nothing more…" he leaves the statement open.

            "If I had access to some ice, I'd suggest using it on that eye.  Otherwise, I don't think I can do anything more."

            "Great; would you help me get this shirt on?"  His left arm is useless, he can barely move it at all, even though he found he can move his fingers, much to his relief.  

            "Do you want to leave your arm as is or would you prefer to have it immobilized again?" Jeffers asks as they are wrestling with the shirt—it's a little snugger than Harm would like, but better than the alternatives.

            "You'd better wrap it up again.  It ought to keep it from getting worse."  'Like it's done so far?' Harm's cynical side taunts.  Harm ignores the internal voice; he's not going to admit to talking to himself—even to himself.

            Jeffers unobtrusively helps Harm to the bunk Parr pointed out earlier.  It took less than an hour to accomplish everything, but everyone else except the Marine standing guard is fast asleep.  Harm notes gratefully that someone made the narrow bed—he was just planning on dropping into it as it was, but this will be much more comfortable.  Feeling somewhat safer than he has in nearly two days, Harm is instantly asleep.  


	23. Chapter 23

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 23

            Mac apprehensively enters AJ's office.  She's not sure why she's so nervous; they're about to discuss just what it is that Harm has been doing for the last three years.  Maybe that's it; she's already angry with herself for the way she treated him because of what they've already been told.  She's not really nervous about facing AJ, she's nervous about facing herself when she reads the file she has clutched in her arms.

            AJ is sitting at his desk, his glasses in front of him, rubbing his temples.  He only looks up after she's shut the door behind her.  "Have a seat Colonel," he says before she can snap to attention.  Mac follows his instruction, perching nervously on the edge of the chair.  "You made that trip rather quickly," he comments.

            "The SecNav had a helo coming.  Captain McKnight told me I could have a seat on it if I could make it topside in time."

            "I'm sure you were early," he smiles.  "Did you receive my message?"

            "As soon as we arrived at Andrews.  And thank you because there was a ZNN truck waiting for us."

            AJ laughs.  "That's what they get for announcing their intentions ahead of time.  So how did you get here from Andrews?"

            "The SecNav again.  He also gave me this," she says handing him the file containing Harm's service record.  She waits until he opens the folder before adding, "He said it is a direct copy of his."

            AJ begins leafing through the file.  "He just handed this to you?" he queries.  "Why?"

            "The first reason he gave was that Webb was probably going to try to get it for you—he did mention that avenue won't pan out.  Then he said you and I needed to know what it contained because he is planning on sending Harm here after they find him."

            "Did he mention for how long?"  

            "No.  I got the impression he'd rather send them on leave but hasn't come up with a way to do so—this seems to be a second best choice."

            "Them?"

            "He's standing down the entire team for an undetermined length of time, but only after they get Harm back."

            "Where's the team now?"

            "Still on the _Reprisal_."  

            "He seems awfully optimistic that things are going to turn out," AJ says wryly.

            "Maybe he has reason to be optimistic," Mac points out.

            "I just wish I knew what his reason was so I could share some of his optimism," AJ sighs.  "Maybe we'll get inspiration by reading this," he says indicating the folder.  He opens to the first page and begins reading, handing each page to Mac as he finishes with it.  The first parts are mostly familiar to him, he only skims through them to see if there is anything different than what he remembers; his pace slows considerably when he reaches the entries from the past three years.

            Mac takes her time from the beginning.  Although she knows a little from what Harm has told her over the years, she's never had the opportunity to read his service record.  When she defended him on charges of murder, she knew her time was better spent trying to find proof there was another man in the warehouse with him that night—reading through his service record wasn't high on her list of things to do in the short time she had to prepare.  Somehow she is not surprised when she reads of the medals that were to be awarded shortly after Harm's ramp strike—if she ever knew her former partner, it was guilt that drove him to refuse the awards.  

            As AJ and Mac are both lost in their respective thoughts about their missing coworker, time slowly passes.  Each of them is wondering about what has happened to Harm in the last several years; neither is ready to voice their thoughts.  A sharp knock at the door to the office brings them back to the present abruptly.  Mac quickly gathers the file together, placing it neatly back into the folder with the ease of years of practice.  AJ takes a moment to wonder why his visitors have not been announced by Coates, making sure everything is set to rights before calling out for the person or persons on the other side of the door to enter.  As he half expected, Tiner and Turner are the first to enter, but it's the two men who follow them who have him wondering just what's going on now.

            ***

            Whispers float across the room; the speakers are trying not to disturb the one sleeping, who is trying not to let the speakers know he was awake with the first whisper.  The charade on both sides ends when the door to the barracks is opened with a bang.  Harm rolls out of the bunk and is on his feet before the sound dies.

            Sadik and Fasal follow four armed men into the room.  These four spread out to keep an eye on the room while two more enter behind Sadik and Fasal and take up stations at the door.

            "Which one of you is Ambassador DeLong?" Sadik asks.

            "Why do you want to know?" Harm questions before DeLong can identify herself.

            Sadik takes a threatening step toward Harm, stopping only because Fasal lays a cautioning hand on his arm.  "Why we want to know does not concern you," Fasal tells him.

            Everyone has gathered around Harm; DeLong and Meg flank him with Parr close by.  DeLong steps forward.  "I am Ambassador DeLong," she reveals, cutting off the acerbic comment on the tip of Harm's tongue.

            Sadik reluctantly pulls his attention from Harm.  "Ambassador I apologize for our intrusion into your domain, and assure you we do not mean you or your staff any harm; in fact, I'm sure we will be going our separate ways in a few days."

            "You don't mean us any harm?" she echoes, pointing at Harm, "Is that what you told him as well?"  

            "I'm afraid Captain Rabb doesn't fall under the same protection you and your people do.  Do not concern yourself with him; as long as you cooperate and do not give us any trouble, we will not be forced to go back on our word."

            The finality of the statement signifies there will be no further discussion on the topic; DeLong gives in, she'll get the information from Harm anyway.  "What is it you want?"

            "Nothing from you; I simply needed to get the attention of certain people in your military?"

            "Who?"

            Sadik just smiles and ignores the question.  "I need name and rank from each of you."  Fasal pulls a small notebook and pen out of a pocket and approaches the group.  "You will each give your information to this man," Sadik 'suggests' strongly.  He steps closer to DeLong and finds himself face to face with Harm.  He smiles inwardly at the physical manifestation of yesterday's rage and pointedly ignores him.  "Is there anything you require to make your stay more comfortable?" he asks DeLong, sounding more like the concierge in a hotel than a terrorist holding them hostage.

            DeLong takes a minute to review what they have available to them:  water, clothing, bedding and blankets to ward against the cold nights and food—although something she would not normally choose, the meal they were given last night was adequate, both in amount and taste.  "There is nothing unless you would consent to giving my people access to some of our medical equipment," she says hopefully.

            "I am afraid I cannot allow that—none of your people are hurt, are they?" he asks concernedly, only belatedly realizing the motivation behind the request.  "If his presence bothers you I will remove him."

            "No; I'd like to have him where I can keep an eye on him," she says firmly, attempting to warn Sadik against any future treatment of the kind she believes Harm has received.

            Fasal returns to Sadik's side and the two have a whispered conversation.  "Very well.  He shall remain here for now," Sadik relents.  "But know he is responsible for your behavior," he adds cryptically.

            'Well, there goes the escape plan,' is the general thought among the marines.  The two men leave the room followed by four of the guards.  A short moment later, the door is opened again to admit several men carrying what turns out to be a morning meal.  Once these men deliver their burdens they depart, followed by the last two guards.  The group waits a few minutes before gathering the items left.  By unspoken plan the marines gather on one side of the room with their meals, giving Harm, DeLong, Meg and Parr privacy to talk.

            "The floor's yours," DeLong says to Harm after they finish their breakfast.  "How about starting by telling me why you were provoking that man."

            "His name is Sadik Fahd; the younger man with him is his son—they're terrorists."

            "And you were provoking him because…" DeLong prompts.

            "To keep his attention on me."

            "Why sir?"  This comes from Parr.

            "That's a loaded question and a long story," Harm hedges.  

            "Try this one then—what are you doing in Peru, sir?" Meg asks, speaking for the first time.

            Harm's expression briefly flickers toward panic before he schools his features back into submission.  "That's a long story as well—or more accurately, it's part of the other long story," he says finally.  

            "Well sir, I'm sure it will be.  I didn't hear of any other JAGs coming down this way, especially not anyone from Headquarters.  All the shipboard JAGs were summoned for some sort of meeting on the _Reprisal_," Meg comments.

            "And why weren't you there?" Harm questions.

            "Who says I wasn't?" Meg tosses back.  Harm doesn't say anything; he simply turns his attention to her fully and fixes his gaze on her.  This is the look he's honed to perfection in the past three years, although only someone who knew him before he started his current assignment would be able to see the sadness and hurt behind the intense look.  "Gunnery Sergeant Parr noticed some anomalies and wanted someone to help him do a little investigating.  I thought I'd be back in time; Lt. Graves had instructions to go in my place if I didn't make it back in time, sir," she defends herself.

            "I met Lt. Graves, nice young man, although I'm surprised he didn't see fit to inform me he wasn't the lead JAG from the _Cookson_."

            "With all those files at Headquarters, you should have known who was expected," Meg counters, although a small niggling doubt begins to raise red flags.

            Harm momentarily debates his options.  Once again, he determines he needs to tell his story—abridged greatly, of course—in order to get them to understand what it is he's planning.  Out of habit, he glances around the room to ensure no one else is listening in before beginning the broadest synopsis of the past several days to his audience, covering only what has happened and ignoring not only Meg's challenge, but also any mention of his past contact with Sadik.  DeLong and Parr take his story at face value, but for Meg, the red flags are flapping wildly in the wind and have been joined by fireworks—something is definitely not right with Harm's story.  She resolves to find a way to speak to him privately and get the whole story; she will not be left in the dark again.

            "What does he want with us then?" DeLong asks finally.  

            "My guess is he'll use you as incentive to get either or both of the men he's after here to rescue you," Harm answers.

            "What happened to make him take such a dislike to you?"  

            "His son's aircraft was one of those damaged, although obviously not one of the two that were destroyed.  About the time we reached his base and my identity was confirmed, he had gone from distantly civil to downright hostile.  I'm not sure what caused the change," Harm tells her truthfully.

            "What's your recommendation, sir?" Parr asks.

            "They haven't made any attempts to hurt any of you, so unless that changes I would recommend cooperating with the restrictions.  You have food, shelter and water; I don't believe it would be in your best interest to do anything to disturb that."

            "What about the trap he's obviously laying for the men you told us about?" DeLong asks.  "Aren't we just playing into his hands if we don't attempt to warn anyone?"

            "Do you really feel there's anything you can do about it?" Harm asks her harshly.  "He brought twice as many men as you have with him.  Add that to whatever he already had here and he has a fairly substantial force.  If you try to get anyone out to report the situation you will probably only succeed in getting them killed.  Is that what you really want to do?"

            DeLong blanches at his words.  The last time she discounted his comments, she succeeded in getting the flight status of a female aviator reinstated—she was still around when that same aviator bungled her landing, killing herself and nearly killing her RIO.  Had Harm not been there to save the day, the RIO would have most likely ended up in the ship's screws.  Swallowing her pride—and a nasty comment about self-preservation—DeLong gives in.  "I'm sure you're correct, Captain.  I just don't like the thought of anyone walking into a trap."

            "Neither do I ma'am.  If it helps, I don't believe Sadik will use deadly force on the team.  He wants Post and the other man alive; he won't want to take the chance either of them will be killed—especially since he doesn't know who the other man is."  He could go on to tell her he knows neither man will show up, but he's reluctant to reveal his knowledge at this point.

            DeLong accepts his words at face value and turns to her head of security.  "Gunnery Sergeant, I need you to make sure your men know I don't want them to offer any resistance to Sadik's orders," she instructs.  

            Parr scrambles to his feet with a quick "yes Ma'am," comes to attention for the brief moment it takes Harm to acknowledge the courtesy, then spins on his heel before striding off.  Harm and Meg share a glance of amusement.

            "The more things change the more they seem the same," Harm comments.

            Meg laughs.  "He told me he asked to be assigned here almost immediately after he found out he made Gunnery Sergeant.  I wonder what Gunny Granger would think of him now."

            DeLong looks back and forth between the two officers.  "You know each other?" she asks.  "And Parr?"

            "Meg and I were partners for nearly a year," Harm confirms.  "One of our cases brought us here when then Corporal Parr was accused of killing an unarmed boy.  He ended up saving Ambassador Bartlett's life."  Harm keeps silent on his role in the near disaster; DeLong already pegged him as a reckless cowboy the last time they met, he's determined not to give her any reason to believe she was correct; he needs her to follow his recommendations. Thankfully, Meg follows his lead and doesn't offer any further explanations.

            Conversation dies out shortly after that.  DeLong, used to having a full night's sleep decides to rest for a while.  "I'll just leave the two of you to catch up," she says, leaving Meg and Harm alone.  


	24. Chapter 24

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 24

            For a moment there is an uneasy silence between the two former partners.  Surprisingly it's Harm who speaks first, "You're looking good Meg.  How've you been?" he asks casually.

            "I've been good, sir.  I transferred back to a position with JAG almost two years ago; before that it seems like I was all over the place.  And what about you?  I don't think I've heard your name mentioned once since I transferred back."

            "Please Meg; drop the 'sir,' at least for the time being.  And until yesterday, I would have been surprised if you had; I haven't been with JAG for a little more than three years," Harm admits quietly.

            "You obviously haven't given up flying; why haven't I heard anything about that either?" she continues digging.

            "That's classified."

            "That's not funny Harm."

            "I'm not trying to be funny Meg, it's classified."  Harm is beginning to realize how Webb felt all those times he was asking for JAG help.

            "Under whose authority?" Meg asks.

            The door bangs open, cutting off Harm's reply.  Fasal stalks into the room followed by several guards. "Who does this belong to?" he asks, holding up a laptop computer.

            It all happens so fast, no one has a chance to protest when two of the men accompanying Fasal step forward and hustle Harm out of the room when he begins to try to divert Fasal's attention away from his question.  Fasal deliberately waits until Harm is gone to repeat his question, but his plan backfires.

            "Where are you taking him?" DeLong demands.

            "My father wishes to finish a conversation they started yesterday," Fasal answers easily.  "Now who does this belong to?" he asks again, waving the laptop.  He narrows the choices down by studying their faces; none of the Marines seem to know—or they're faking their confusion well.  He turns to Meg and DeLong and asks again.  He stares long and hard at each woman, but neither gives him any indication that she owns the piece of equipment in his hands.  "No matter," he says finally.  "It will be obvious soon enough."  With that cryptic statement, he and the men standing guard turn and leave as abruptly as Harm was removed, leaving those left to wonder just what the point of the visit really was.

            ***

            "What are the two of you doing here?" AJ asks his unexpected visitors before they've cleared the doorway.

            "Our producers thought you'd be more forthcoming with us than with our colleagues outside," one of them answers.

            "What makes them—or you—think we know anything?"

            "You are obviously aware that some of our colleagues attempted to waylay Colonel MacKenzie when she arrived back in the states.  They and our producers were, shall we say, unhappy that she managed to elude them.  Someone at the station seems to think Stuart and I have an inside source here at JAG and sent us to get the information they were after," Chuck DePalma answers truthfully, if a little wryly.

            "Now we both know that's not information you're going to give up, but is there any information you **can** give us that will not only appease our bosses, but also the general public, who have unfortunately been left hanging?" Stuart Dunston asks hopefully.

            "You know as well as we do that the name of the pilot cannot be revealed until the family is notified," AJ responds.  "Other than that, all I can say is I've had word that the pilot was able to bring the aircraft down safely."

            "Off the record, do you know who the pilot is?" DePalma asks.

            "Off the record, yes I do, but I'm still not going to reveal who it is," AJ warns him.

            "Can you tell us where the aircraft landed?" Dunston tries.

            "That information wasn't revealed to me," AJ tells them.  "Just exactly why do your producers believe you'll be able to get the information they're looking for here?"

            DePalma has the grace to look a bit guilty.  "It's actually Colonel MacKenzie we were instructed to get the information out of.  She was the one they said just left the _Reprisal_.  Although no one mentioned why she was there in the first place…"

            "Your people are less informed than they let on; we were all on the _Reprisal, the rest of us just left a little earlier than the Colonel did," AJ informs them, his sweeping hand gesture encompassing all of the officers in the office.  _

            Belatedly, DePalma and Dunston turn their attention to the officers they followed into the room.  "We haven't met yet; I'm Stuart Dunston," Dunston introduces himself.

            "I recognized you from your newscasts and the trial," Tiner says, offering his hand.  "Lieutenant jg Jason Tiner."

            "Commander Sturgis Tuner," Sturgis offers almost hesitantly, recognizing the name and the man.

            "Chuck DePalma, pleased to meet you."

            "Now that that's out of the way, do you mind telling us why you were all on the _Reprisal?" Dunston asks._

            "A few years ago after watching one of my senior officers run himself ragged trying to put out fires all over the fleet, I petitioned to have an additional JAG position created.  The officer in the position would be responsible for reviewing the cases the shipboard JAGs couldn't handle.  He or she was then to have the authority to investigate and make recommendations on the disposition of these cases, leaving the personnel stationed at the various JAG offices free to keep their attention on the more localized cases.  I thought it would cut down on trial delays and extensions if the lawyers in these cases weren't occasionally called to a carrier in the middle of the hearing," AJ explains.  "Yesterday I found out, along with the JAG officers currently serving aboard ships, that my request had finally been made into reality; we were there to meet the officer chosen for the position."

            "I'm guessing we're not to be privy to the name of that officer," Dunston comments.

            "Not at this time," AJ agrees.

            "Well, now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, would you consider doing us a favor?" DePalma asks.

            "What would that be?"

            "Give our boss a call and read him the riot act for sending us out here," Dunston requests.  "We already know we're both headed out of town on less than ideal assignments—that's not going to change anytime soon—but I think a warning to our colleagues outside coupled with a phone call from you might get them to back off for a while.  And if that doesn't work, you can always threaten to bring Rabb back to prosecute."

            In his preoccupation with the memories of his own trial, Dunston misses the look exchanged by Mac and AJ.  DePalma, intently watching them, does not miss it, and a very small spark of an idea looks for fuel.  "He didn't come back here without us noticing, did he?" he asks.

            The room is suddenly silent; the three junior officers look to their CO for guidance.  Feeling backed into a corner, AJ searches for something that will appease them for a while.  He is saved the effort by the ringing of the telephone.  "Admiral Chegwidden.  What can I do for you, sir?" 

            ***

            Harm is unceremoniously shoved into a small, bare, windowless room after the two guards all but drag him around the grounds in an attempt to confuse him.  It works; although he's been through the compound before, the changes made since then and the dizzying, whirlwind 'tour' he's just taken leave him with absolutely no idea where they've stopped.

            The room appears to have been a hastily emptied store room—there are still faint outlines of the boxes and supplies that were recently stored here in the dirt on the floor.  A single naked bulb illuminates the small space, but does nothing to ward off the chill of the room.  The temperature of the room puzzles him until he looks up and sees the vent in the ceiling—someone has aimed a good portion of the output of a very efficient air conditioner through that vent.

            In the short sleeved t-shirt kindly donated by one of the Marines, Harm is soon shivering.  Hoping for a miracle, he tests the doorknob, only to find it securely locked as he feared it would be.  The knob on this side is smooth and unbroken by a keyhole, robbing him of the opportunity to exercise his lock-picking skills.  After a short, futile circuit of the room to look for any weaknesses, Harm picks a corner of the room and settles in to wait, wrapping his good arm around his drawn-up knees to retain as much warmth as possible.


	25. Chapter 25

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 25

            It takes less than fifteen minutes for Harm to rethink his decision—it's too darn cold in the room to be just sitting around.  He struggles to his feet and tries walking around the perimeter of the room, but the room is so small that he just makes himself dizzy.  Rethinking the strategy, he switches to a flattened figure eight—corner to corner, along the wall to the next corner and cross over again.  It's not perfect, but at least it generates a little bit of warmth and doesn't cause nearly as much dizziness as going around in circles.

            Harm doesn't know how long he's been in the room, but his steps are faltering and the limp he's been trying to hide is becoming more pronounced with each step.  The door flies open abruptly, intercepting Harm in his pacing; the force of the blow knocks him backwards into the wall, the rough surface only serving to abrade his skin as he slides to the floor.  By the time he comes to a rest, Sadik has settled into a chair one of the ever present guards placed in the room for that purpose.  

            "How long will it take for your government to send a team to rescue the ones I am holding?" Sadik asks.  He's bundled up against the cold, confirming Harm's suspicions that this room is part of Sadik's plan.

            It's not really what Harm thought Sadik would ask—at least not to start with.  "I don't know," Harm tells him, making only a half-hearted attempt to regain his feet; he's just too cold and tired.  "I can't say that I've ever had to research anything along those lines for any of my cases."  Okay, so that's part truth and part not-truth.  Harm knows very well—given the information he's had access to in the past three years—that rescue plans are probably being discussed as they speak, although it will probably be another 24 hours or more until they have enough data to proceed—unless there is even a hint there is danger to the hostages.

            Had Harm gotten the call, he and his team would already be in the area.  Although no less effective in their results, the other team leaders are more cautious and prefer more information before even beginning their operations.  Sure, they'd all like to be able to operate like Harm, but they've all been trained to plan more extensively, and that training sometimes holds them back where Harm charges ahead, relying on his instincts to guide him through.

            Sadik continues the questioning for hours.  Sometime in that period, Harm manages to get to his feet and off the cold, hard floor; and props himself in the corner to remain upright.  The questions seem to go in a cycle, the wording varying with each repetition, most of which Harm—as a lawyer and pilot—would not ordinarily know the answers to; although, with his recent assignment, he is more than passingly familiar with the answers.  Somewhere along the line Sadik begins slipping in questions about Post and Harm, trying to see if his captive will trip up and give him the knowledge he wants—Sadik is for some reason certain Harm can answer all of his question and he intends to keep questioning him until he does.

            Outside of the little room, the sun is chasing the dark of night away.  The muted activity on the grounds increases rapidly as the night guards give up their posts to their daytime counterparts.  Those not standing guard hurry to complete their tasks before the day grows to warm; the necessity of wearing the masking hats and coats in the summer weather makes getting the outside tasks completed in the cool of the early morning a priority.

            Inside the building more men begin their daily labor.  Those with kitchen duty have already been working for several hours and are ready to feed everyone on the grounds, including the hostages.  Today Sadik has requested a special meal be set up for him, his son and two guests.  When Fasal sees everything is set, he sends someone to inform his father and personally sees about 'inviting' their guests.

            The knock on the door to the small room interrupts the ninth repetition of one of the questions about something or other.  Harm welcomes the interruption, wishing desperately for Sadik to leave the room so he can move away from the corner he wedged himself into.  His legs are asleep, his back—and thankfully his shoulder as well—is numb, and his mind is muddled and confused with all the variations of questions that have been thrown at him.  He misses Sadik's instructions for the guards to bring him along as he is pondering how he'll ever remain on his feet.  The moment they pull him from the corner he crashes to the floor.  As his consciousness fades and he feels the guards pick him up, he overhears a comment his tired mind unconsciously overhears—they are close to getting into the computer they found in the ambassador's office.

            ***

            "Yes, Mr. Secretary, I understand sir."  Only Mac can see the exasperation on AJ's face, and the rapid change to astonishment and confusion.  "You want me to do what?"  Another pause and AJ's gaze flickers to Dunston and DePalma.  "Well, there are two of them in my office right now."  A smile tugs at one corner of AJ's mouth.  "No, they're still sitting outside.  We've had dealings with these two before—Chuck DePalma and Stuart Dunston."  The hardened Navy SeAL is back and Mac can't read anything more from her CO.  "Yes sir.  I'll take care of it.  Thank you sir."  The handset is placed on the base; for a moment there is complete silence—it's AJ's turn to break it.

            For the moment ignoring the reporters, AJ sends Tiner to gather the staff in the bullpen.  Sturgis is sent to tell Admiral Morris to bring his staff down for a meeting; the unusual request is taken in stride and the two officers hurry to deliver their messages.  Acknowledging their obvious curiosity, AJ assures the two reporters that they will have their answers along with everyone else; he also informs them that while they may not use the cameras in the building, they will be permitted to use a tape recorder to record the statement he will be making shortly.  It is almost comical to see the two men scramble for the door—they know without being told that AJ will make his statement on his time schedule and anyone not ready will miss it.

            Mac follows the two men to the door and closes it behind them.  "Sir?  I take it Harm's mother has been notified," she observes softly.

            "You would be correct, Colonel," AJ sighs.  "The SecNav said she didn't take the news very well."

            "Can you blame her sir?  It sounds like he's been lying to her about a lot of things for years—all under orders of course.  Not to mention she's already lost her husband to the Navy.  She's almost lost her son twice before.  I can't imagine what this latest situation is doing to her."

            "She apparently saw the newscast and was convinced it was Rabb; she was waiting by the phone for the call—or a formal visit.  Now, was there something else you wanted?" he asks, pulling them both back to the subject at hand.

            Hesitantly, Mac slips the letters from the large envelope.  "Harm left these letters to be distributed in the event he went missing for more than 24 hours…or was killed.  Lt. Commander Duncan gave them to me on the _Reprisal after the last meeting.  I have to admit, it's why I didn't report in right away.  Harm left me a note with them…he was aware of the possibility I might just chuck the whole thing in the garbage, but he went through the trouble anyway."  An image of Harm writing at a desk in a cramped stateroom pops into her head, effectively derailing her train of thought.  She realizes the image is a memory—from the time he returned to flying.  She'd seen him in his stateroom, working on legal issues for the wing, when she was on the Patrick Henry._

            "Colonel?  Mac?" AJ's concerned voice finally breaks into her thoughts.  "Are you ok?"

            "Sorry sir," she smiles sadly.  "Just lost in thought."  A pause to take a deep breath and reorder her thoughts, and she's back on track.  "I wanted your opinion, sir.  Harm fought for—and won—the concession that after 24 hours missing he would be allowed to let us know why he disappeared after returning from Paraguay.  What I'm unsure about is if reading these letters will help or hurt.  Should I deliver the letters now, wait until he returns and let him do it, or wait until he returns and just give them back to him?"

            AJ can see this is weighing heavily on her mind; he gives the options she outlined serious thought before speaking.  "Mac, what you ultimately decide is up to you; I can tell you what I would do, but I don't think that is really what you're looking for, is it?" he asks wisely.

            Mac simply shakes her head slowly, wondering why she even brought the subject up.  She begins to gather her things to leave when AJ speaks again.

            "Hold on Mac.  I didn't say I wouldn't help you work through it to make your own decision."

            Mac reseats herself, feeling even more nervous than she had before.  Inspiration suddenly hits.  "Actually, sir, I think I know what I should do.  Harm fought to make sure there was a possibility these would be delivered after 24 hours.  Had I not seen him on the _Reprisal I most likely **would have canned the lot," she admits.  "But it is obviously important to him for everyone to have these, so I would like your permission to distribute those I can after the meeting."**_

            AJ smiles to himself—he always knew she had a good head on her shoulders; seeing Harm again and having the many things happen that have in the past couple of days simply confused her for a short time.  "Permission granted.  Did he leave you one?" he asks softly.

            "Not in the same way he did these others—he kept a journal and addressed the entries to me.  I've actually read a couple of them.  Do you know a Gunnery Sergeant Crockett?" she asks.

            "Crockett?  Sure I do.  He's a sniper instructor; or at least he used to be.  Rabb out-smarted him and then volunteered to drive a target vehicle for him.  Why do you ask?"  He's curious, not defensive or angry.

            "There was an interesting story of how Crockett chose to train Harm as the sniper for his team; practically told the SecNav off too."

            AJ laughs.  "That would have been quite a battle of wills."

            "It certainly sounded that way.  What I don't understand is why he would have chosen Harm."

            "He wanted to train him all those years ago…I'm sure he was pleased to finally get the chance."  'And the chance to get him back for the embarrassment he probably felt when Harm bested him on his own territory,' AJ adds to himself.

            They share a slightly strained laugh at the thought of a Gunnery Sergeant giving orders to Sheffield.  Mac still looks like she has something on her mind; AJ calls her on it.  "There's something else bothering you, Mac.  Let's have it."

            "I guess I'm just trying to process it all—Harm showing up again, finding out what he's been doing, getting a look at his service record.  I always knew he seemed to find trouble, I just never knew…I guess it just never hit me just how much he's been through.  He was always reluctant to talk about his past."

            "There's a lot there that he **can't **talk about.  Ask him to tell you what he **can talk about sometime…it might help both of you," AJ suggests.**

            "If he comes back," Mac says softly.  

            "You're not giving up on him are you?" AJ asks.

            "No sir."  Her voice lacks conviction.  "But I'm not sure how many more times he can beat the odds."

            Jen picks that moment to buzz AJ.  "Sir, everyone is gathered in the bullpen as requested," she reports.

            Without taking his eyes off Mac, AJ unerringly finds the intercom button on his phone.  "Thank you Coates.  We'll be out in a minute."

            "Aye sir," Jen acknowledges.  The ensuing silence in the office is deafening. 

            AJ emerges from behind his desk to sit next to Mac.  "Don't give up on him, Mac," he pleads.  "Harm has more lives than a cat, more luck than a leprechaun, and a good head on his shoulders.  Any one of those will see him through."

            "I know sir.  I'm just scared I won't get the chance to ask him all of the questions I have or tell him how much he means to me." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, and she won't look him in the eye.

            "I have faith they will eventually find out where he is; or he'll get away on his own.  I don't doubt he'll be in here causing trouble again before you know it."  AJ stands and offers a hand to Mac.  "Now, we need to go out there and give a report to the rest of the staff; and we both need to be positive about it."  He glances at the letters clutched tightly in her hands.  "Do you want to leave those in here and we'll bring everyone in here after the announcement?" he asks, his voice returning for a moment to a gentler tone. 

            "That would probably be the best, sir."  Mac sorts through the letters, reading the names off to him.  When she reaches the last one, her voice breaks, "this one's for you."

            AJ attempts unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat as he accepts the envelope from her hands.  Sure enough, 'Admiral AJ Chegwidden' is written on the front in Harm's distinctive handwriting.  He stares at the envelope for a long minute before deliberately setting it on his desk with the others.  Another minute passes while he visibly draws his 'admiral' persona around him.  Once again squared away, he turns back to Mac, who has watched him the entire time.  "It's time to face the staff," he says sternly but compassionately.  "So suck it up, Marine," he unconsciously echoes Harm's words of years earlier.  

            "Aye sir," Mac replies.  She straightens her spine and shoulders, schools her face into an expression of neutrality, takes a huge calming breath and steps through the door into the bullpen.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N:  I know this part is a bit short, I've been fighting my muse for every word—I don't know why it's been so hard to write.  The upside is I have a good portion of the next written, but I still have to get it typed into the computer.  Please read the A/N at the end of this part regarding updates.  Thanks again for reading.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 26

            "Attention on deck," someone orders, seeing the door open.

            "At ease," AJ's voice follows so quickly even those already on their feet don't have time to snap to attention.  He follows Mac into the bullpen and waits until she joins the rest of his staff.  

            AJ lets his gaze roam over the officers and enlisted personnel gathered.  Some have been at this duty station for years, others are newcomers.  The judiciary staff is in the back of the room, most of the enlisted personnel are gathered around their desks and his lawyers and other officers are scattered throughout the room.  Just inside the double doors he spots Bud and Harriet, both in civvies, standing with several of the Marine guards—the entire staff is indeed gathered.  At the front, on opposite sides of the room, DePalma and Dunston have their tape recorders in hand.  

            "I have two announcements to make and then I'll let you get back to work."  AJ informs them.  He composes his thoughts, quickly running through the facts he's been authorized to present.  "As most of you are aware, I was aboard the _Reprisal yesterday for a meeting.  It turns out a request I made some time back has been answered.  I am pleased to announce that the SecNav has appointed Captain Harmon Rabb as the first FleetJAG."_

            A quiet murmur of voices begins with the announcement and quickly crescendos in volume as the 'newbies' ask their more knowledgeable 'old-timer' coworkers for the scoop.  AJ waits for a few minutes until the ruckus dies down a bit; while he's waiting, he observes the reactions of the two reporters:  Stuart Dunston looks mildly shell-shocked—of all the names he might have expected to hear, Harm was the last on the list; Chuck DePalma is as impassive as ever—he is calmly dictating comments into his tape recorder.  Once the roar has finally settled to a controllable level, AJ once again asks for quiet.

            "The second announcement," he reminds them, "is that shortly after the meeting Captain Rabb was asked to fill in for the CAG of the _Reprisal_ on a mission.  I am sorry to have to report Captain Rabb is the pilot you've been hearing about on ZNN.  I have been authorized to tell you he did make it out of the Tomcat before it was destroyed.  He is currently listed as MIA."  

            This time there is absolute silence following the announcement.  "MacKenzie, Turner, Roberts, Sims, Tiner, Coates; my office," AJ orders into the silence before turning to retreat into his sanctuary.  

            "Admiral, I'd like to ask you a few questions for clarification," DePalma requests, the first other than those who already knew to get his mind wrapped around the announcement.  

            "I need to meet with these officers," AJ states firmly.  "If the two of you would like to wait until we are finished, I will provide you with whatever answers I can," he says, including Dunston in the offer.

            "We'll be here," DePalma agrees resolutely, letting AJ know he won't be getting out of his offer.  Both DePalma and Dunston are supposed to leave for their next assignments soon; neither cares at this point that they might miss their flight.

            "Fine," AJ acknowledges.  "Just don't antagonize my staff."  He ducks into his office and closes the door behind him.

            ***

            Sadik is the first in the room for breakfast.  Harm is dumped in a corner as the guards take up their positions around the room.  They're just in time; no sooner are they settled than Fasal enters with DeLong and Meg.  The two women are uncertain as to what's going on, Fasal didn't say much when he came to get them, but he also didn't give them any choice in the matter.

            Sadik plays the perfect gentleman; he serves them, is attentive to their needs and keeps a light conversation during the meal.  Both Meg and DeLong will admit they never expected him to be so 'civilized'.  It's not until the last of the food has been eaten that Sadik gets down to business.

            "The computer we found yesterday belongs to one of you," he states matter-of-factly on the heels of some inane comment, startling both ladies with the abrupt topic change.

            Neither woman answers, but both are thinking along the same lines, 'what harm would it really do for him to know who owns the computer?'

            "We will know soon; why don't you tell me?" he cajoles, standing to pace around the small room.  Up until that moment, Sadik has been inadvertently blocking their view of the corner of the room where Harm has been slowly warming up; he begins to stir at the same moment Sadik stands, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

            "What did you do to him?" DeLong exclaims.

            "The room we were in last night was just a bit cold," Sadik replies innocently, a small smile of satisfaction on his face.  "He may be even more stubborn than the two of you, but I haven't harmed him…yet."

            Meg is by Harm's side, helping him to sit up; her concern unvoiced, but palpable all the same.  "I'm sure the cold was deliberate, but he's not stretching the truth too much," Harm tells her, his voice raspy with the night of cold and disuse.  "He just questioned me all night," he assures her responding to the dubious expression on her face.

            Abruptly Meg remembers he was taken from the barracks before dinner was brought the night before.  "When was the last time you ate anything?"

            "Breakfast."

            "That was yesterday!" Meg exclaims.  "He needs food," she says forcefully to Sadik.

            "You ate his share along with yours," Fasal says smugly, the first words he's spoken since they arrived in the room.

            "That's cruel, you haven't given him anything to eat since yesterday morning," Meg objects.

            "I told you he is not being held under the same terms you are," Sadik reminds her.  "He will not receive food until he is cooperative in answering my questions."

            "Meg, don't push it.  I doubt I could eat anything anyway," Harm interjects.

            "But…" Meg begins again—something is wrong here.

            "Drop it Meg," Harm warns.

            A note of authority rings in his voice; Meg can hear the implied order.  "Aye sir," she acquiesces reluctantly.

            Sadik watches the exchange between the two officers with interest—he senses they are more than just officers who have recently met.  "You are acquainted?" he asks.

            "We've served together," Harm replies vaguely.

            Sadik scrutinizes Meg closely for a minute.  "You are a lawyer?" he asks finally.  "What is a lawyer doing here?"  
  


            "I was helping one of the Marines with a problem."   It's Meg's turn to be vague.

            Sadik laughs.  "Very good.  You lawyers are full of surprises.  I have things I need to do; Fasal, make sure they get back to the barracks safely.  I would hate to have anything happen to these two lawyers."  He's looking at Harm as he gives the instructions to his son; his eyes are cold and dark with hidden meaning.  Harm begins to wonder if he knows something about Mac—either being a lawyer or in the military—either way, it could make things even more complicated than they are now.

A/N:  Despite the possibility of being snowed in again, it may be late next week before I am able to update either this story of Honor's Loss.  My great-grandmother is in the hospital and not doing well, I have volunteered to help my grandmother out in any way she needs, and there is a possibility I may be going out of town to run a three-day training session early next week—let's just say my store manager who's supposed to be doing the training would much rather send me because if she goes, I'll be spending a lot of time on the phone trying to talk her through various things—it all depends on whether or not our district manager will want to send an hourly employee who will require a hotel as opposed to a salaried employee who is an hour closer to the store in question.


	27. Chapter 27

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 27

            Two of the guards remain close to Harm on the way back to the barracks; the other two accompany the women, one in front of Harm with DeLong and one behind with Meg; she notices that the guards are treating Harm like a dangerous threat, not like the injured and exhausted man he is.  She notes the abrasions on his back and the painful limp he can no longer hide.  To someone who doesn't know him, the façade he's put forth may be convincing, but to Meg who was partnered with him for a year, he's running on empty.

            When the door is finally closed behind them Harm relaxes a bit of his rigid control.  Jeffers is at his side almost immediately, a single flash of pain in Harm's eyes is all he needs to know he has to try again to help the stubborn officer.  "Come with me sir, and I'll clean up those abrasions for you," he coaxes.

            "Abrasions?" Harm echoes.  All at once he can feel each and every scratch.  "I'd forgotten about that," he admits; the cold had numbed the new injuries until his mind dismissed them in the midst of Sadik's questions.

            Meg shoots him an angry look as he dutifully allows Jeffers to guide him to a bunk; he sits quietly while his new and old wounds are cleaned and inspected, speaking only to object when the younger man once again insists he needs to do something more about the shrapnel in his shoulder.

            "But sir, it's infected.  You can't tell me it doesn't hurt," he argues, inspecting the inflamed tissue around the wound.  

            "I told you before, not here.  I don't want to have to repeat myself again, Corporal," he says angrily.  The lack of sleep is affecting Harm—he is rapidly approaching his boiling point.  

            Jeffers bites his tongue; he's never met anyone so set against being helped.  "Obstinate, stubborn squid," he mutters under his breath too quietly it seems for Harm to hear in his current state.  Finally, he finishes as much as Harm will allow him to take care of.  "Here," he hands Harm the robe he arrived in.  "The guys thought you might be more comfortable in a shirt that fit and cleaned this as best they could.  It might be easier on your back than another tight t-shirt."

            Harm gratefully accepts his assistance in getting dressed, waiting patiently as his arm is again strapped across his chest.  Jeffers notes the wince, but does not offer further comment on the subject.  "Thank you Corporal," Harm offers when he's finished.  "I'm sorry about snapping earlier; I'm just a little tired."

            "You probably should rest for a while, sir," Jeffers observes cautiously—his earlier anger dissipated when he got away with calling Harm obstinate and stubborn.

            "I'll make you a deal; you make sure someone wakes me in an hour and I'll rest…and ignore what you called me earlier," he adds with a hint of a smile.

            "Uh, yes sir.  Sorry sir," Jeffers stammers.  

            "People who've known me a lot longer than you have called me that and a lot worse," Harm informs the embarrassed marine—inside he's laughing, but outwardly he's trying hard not to—he doesn't want the young man thinking he can insult officers, no matter how quietly he tries to do so, and get away with it.

            For the next hour, Harm sleeps while the others strive to be absolutely silent.  Exactly 60 minutes later Jeffers wakes Harm, all the while wishing he could let him sleep longer.  Surprisingly Harm looks more rested than he expected.  "How do you do that sir?" he asks.

            "Do what?"

            "Look like you just slept 8 hours?"

            "It's something I've perfected in the past couple of years," Harm answers.  "I don't think my system would know what to do with a full 8 hours of sleep anymore."

            "What **have** you been doing recently?" Meg asks.  Everyone is crowding around the bunk, wanting to hear what transpired the night before.

            Harm looks sternly at Meg, "I believe I answered your questions yesterday, Commander."  He softens just a bit.  "I could use your help on a matter, though.  If you'll excuse us?" he says to the rest.  The marines scurry away quickly; DeLong fixes him with a long, searching gaze before wandering off.  

            "You need my help?" Meg scoffs, angry at what she considers a public dressing down.  "I didn't think the high and mighty Harmon Rabb needed help from anyone."

            Harm stares at her incredously.  "Has there been some change in the UCMJ that I'm unaware of?" he asks.  "Or is the strain just getting to you?"

            "What are you talking about?"

            "I understand this isn't an ideal situation and I haven't been in anything remotely resembling a uniform, but I've never been subjected to such disrespect as I have since I arrived here," Harm states.  "You continue to ask questions I've already told you I can't answer; Jeffers keeps pushing to remove the shrapnel from my shoulder, something I've already told him can't be done here; you all spout 'sirs' at me but fight me on everything I've said.  I want to know why."

            "So would we.  Why are you so set on antagonizing Sadik?  Why won't you answer even the simplest of his questions?" Meg asks angrily.  "You haven't given us any explanations."

            "If I had insisted on making every request an order, would it have made any difference?" Harm challenges.  

            That actually stops Meg for a moment.  Was the reason that they've all been acting badly that he didn't make his orders formal orders?  'He's always couched his orders as suggestions or requests,' her conscience tells her.  'Only when I'd fight him on it would he make it an order.'  

            Harm scrubs a hand across his face, suddenly looking more weary than before his nap.  "I think the lack of sleep is affecting me more than I thought it was," he begins, only to be cut off by Meg.

            "No sir, I believe you're correct in your observation," she acknowledges, coming to attention.  "I apologize for my unprofessional behavior, and offer no excuses."

            The weary look is replaced by a faint smile.  "Now you remind me of myself on the numerous times Admiral Chegwidden chewed my six," Harm observes, adding an 'at ease' when it is obvious she plans on remaining at attention until he does so.

            "Harm, I truly am sorry.  I have a feeling they were just following my lead," she defends the marines spread out on the other side of the room.  "I'd like to help…I was in Naval Intelligence for a while and hold a level 3 clearance."

            Harm again smiles faintly, but this time not in amusement.  "As impressive as that sounds, I'm afraid it's not going to cut it; I still can't tell you where I've been the last three years.  But you can still do me a favor."

            "What do you need?" she asks.

            "I have a feeling this is all going to come to a head tonight—tomorrow at the latest.  Sadik is already suspicious, and I think he's going to get confirmation of his suspicions as soon as he gets into your computer.  All I can do is hope the rescue operation is underway."

            "What do you mean?"

            "I really can't explain much; suffice it to say I've dealt with Sadik before.  I believe he remembers enough to begin putting the pieces together.  But if I'm right about the way things are going to be handled to get you guys out—and if my warning and request made it—I expect one of the elite teams to make the attempt, and I'm hoping for a specific one.  What I need is for you to deliver a message to the team leader, whoever it is."

            "I can do that, what's the message?"

            "It's important you repeat this exactly:  O1, orange, black, blue, green, 24, 3."

            "O1, orange, black, blue, green, 24, 3?  What does that mean?"

            "It's a warning about the trap Sadik is planning.  I don't think I'll be around when they come—I believe Sadik is planning on luring the team further into the embassy and trapping them."  Harm hesitates before explaining further.  "Basically the sequence tells them there is a trap set and they're not to go any farther into the embassy; the numbers at the end are instructions for when they should return to pick me up."

            "If they know about the trap, can't they avoid it?" Meg asks.

            "It's not quite that simple this time.  Look, I need to talk to the others for a few minutes, but I'll come back to try to explain better when I'm done, okay?" 

            Meg scrutinizes her former partner—although the short nap helped, his overall fatigue is still evident.  Add to that the lack of food, the fever from the growing infection and just the presence of the injuries and she makes a quick decision.  "Why don't you stay here and I'll send over whoever it is you want to talk to?" she offers.  

            The protest is on the tip of his tongue when he realizes he doesn't really want to try to stand and walk around the room when he could have them come to him.  "Thank you Meg.  I want to start with the Marines; Parr and the ambassador last."  

            "Aye, aye sir."

            Jeffers is the first one over; he hands Harm a cup of water and a couple of tablets.  "We scrounged around last night and found some aspirin, sir.  I completely forgot about it earlier," he confesses.  "Hopefully it'll help keep that fever in check."  He hands Harm a handkerchief with 4 more inside.

            "I thought Sadik's men took all medicines out of here.  Where did you find them?"

            "Mitchell spilled a bottle in his footlocker last week, sir; he missed a few when he was picking them up."

            "Shouldn't you keep what's left in case you need them?" Harm asks.

            "Sir, we've all agreed you need them more than any of us could in the next few days.  But I do have two concerns:  first that we run out before we're out of here; and second that they thin your blood too much and cause your injuries to bleed again."

            "I've never had any adverse reactions to aspirin before."

            "That's good to know, sir, but I'm sure you usually have eaten somewhat more recently on those occasions," Jeffers points out.

            Harm chooses not to respond to the statement; instead he turns the conversation to the topic he originally wanted to discuss.

            ***

            Bud, Harriet and Jen follow the order to report to AJ's office automatically; though they all knew Harm was back in the system, they hardly expected either announcement—their faces reflect their shock.  Tiner appears mildly embarrassed—maybe because he knew and didn't share the information.  Sturgis' face is a stoic mask—only his eyes betray his feelings.  Mac is clutching tightly to her Marine façade, as if the announcement has served to make everything completely real to her.  AJ is once again closed behind the walls he erected during his days as a SeAL.  

            Looking around at those gathered, Mac is again reminded how much like a family they are; and now the black sheep—once the favored son—has been mentioned and no one seems to know how to react.  She is infinitely relieved she didn't throw the letters away.  AJ indicates the floor is hers; after all, the task was given to and accepted by her.  "The admiral asked you all in here for me," she begins.  "This is actually related to the announcements he just made.  Harm left a letter for each of you along with a request, that should he ever be missing for 24 hours, the letters would be delivered.  Before I hand these out I want to make a personal request.  If you're like me, you wrote him out of your lives when he left without a word three years ago.  I was very tempted to toss the package he left for me in the trash and walk away—but I'm glad I didn't.  I don't know how many of you feel the same way I did—and I know I can't tell you what you should do—but I would recommend you give him a chance and read what he has to say."  With shaking hands she passes out the letters; Sturgis, Tiner and AJ accept theirs with confidence and a smile; Bud and Harriet accept the one for them and the one for little AJ with trepidation—as though they are accepting deadly snakes rather than letters; Jen takes hers eagerly, a smile and thank you ready for Mac.  There are four left in the envelope; three ready to be mailed to Harm's mother, stepfather and grandmother and another with Victor Galindez written on the envelope—she'll have to see if she can find where he's currently stationed.

            "You are all dismissed," AJ says once Mac has handed out the last letter.  "However, if you wish, you may remain while I answer questions from Dunston and DePalma."  He is largely unsurprised when no one makes a move to leave, except Tiner.  "You don't want to stay Lieutenant?" AJ asks.

            "Yes sir.  I just thought it would be prudent to have someone watching Petty Officer Coates' desk while you're speaking with the reporters," he explains.  A few minutes later, Tiner returns with Dunston, DePalma, Morris, Captain Sebring and Commander Helfman.

            "Mind if we sit in?" Morris asks.  Harm may not have been on his best behavior at all times in the courtroom, but each of the judges here respected him and his skills.

            The room is now just a little crowded.  AJ takes his place behind his desk, Dunston and DePalma each take a seat in the chairs in front of the desk, Mac and Sturgis assume positions on either side of the desk—close enough to input comments if they feel so inclined—and the rest stake out their own territory in the limited space available.  As crowded as the room is, only Mac and AJ take notice of the figure that slips in the door at the last moment.

            "You said you had some questions?" AJ queries.  No doubt the reporters spent the time thinking up cunning questions designed to trick even the most stalwart and determined CO.

            "Why was Rabb flying?" DePalma fires off.

            "The flight wasn't on the regular schedule and they were already stretched thin.  The CAG would have taken the flight but he was temporarily grounded with an injury—he was on duty, just unable to fly."

            "We've heard about the pilot, what about the RIO?"

            "He was flying without one; again, flight ops were running at a stepped-up pace."

            "Where's he been for the last three years?" Dunston asks.

            "I can't answer that."

            "Can't or won't?" Dunston challenges.

            "What little I know is classified, so the answer to your highly ill-advised question is can't."

            "Can you tell us more about the position he is to assume?" DePalma asks, wisely cutting off any further antagonizing questions by his colleague.

            "He helped create the position.  At the time he'd just spent quite a lot of time traveling from ship to ship, taking on several investigations on each one.  His cases back here at headquarters had to be divided amongst the rest of the staff—and they already had full loads.  We ended up juggling everyone's schedules, including that of our judges, to accommodate not only his absence but also the cases he sent our way.  It was a very trying time for everyone.

            "Once he finally made it back to town and we got everything caught up, he and I sat down to devise a solution to ensure such a problem would not occur again.  After much deliberation, we determined a new position was the only solution—granted the shortage of personnel would more than likely make itself known once again, but we thought if we could have an officer primarily responsible for investigating cases in the fleet—leaving the attorneys stationed on a base at their base—it would at least require less schedule juggling to get the job done.  If it ever occurred that there were no cases to be investigated, that officer would still have plenty to do helping out wherever they were needed.  

            "I asked Rabb back then if he would be interested.  He said he wanted to give it some thought before he would accept or decline—the position would just about guarantee whichever officer accepted it would not be trial council for the duration.  As it turned out, circumstances and politics put everything on a back burner until now.  I won't say there haven't been times we could have used the 'extra' hand; I have a backlog of cases right now that require attention, and getting them taken care of is going to require some major schedule shuffling again," AJ finishes.

            This is the first anyone in the room has heard the full explanation; they all take a few minutes to absorb the information.  "Can you give us any idea how close they might be to bringing Rabb back?" a significantly less antagonistic Dunston asks—the explanation has given him time to get his attitude in check.

            AJ hesitates; how much should/can he actually tell them.  "I can't do that for the record," AJ says, half apologetically.

            Both reporters make a show of stopping their tape recorders, even going as far as removing the tapes and laying them on AJ's desk.  "How about off the record?" DePalma counters.  "We'll only report what you OK."

            "If anything I do not sign off on appears in a news segment, I'll know where it came from," AJ warns.  Both men understand the unspoken threat in that statement, yet each merely acknowledges it and waits for him to continue.  The JAG staff doesn't need the warning; none of them would think about passing along the information without six kinds of authorization.  

            "This is what we know.  A man by the name of Sadik Fahd owned the planes—Sukhoi Su-19—that forced Rabb down.  Rabb managed to get the Tomcat down safely and get out before one of the Fencers began a strafing run—the pilot ended up destroying the Tomcat and himself.  Rabb was injured—some burns and shrapnel in his leg and shoulder. He made it to the camp of a man named Danib Ashra where a doctor traveling in the company of a pair of missionaries tended to his injuries."  AJ wonders briefly if there is any sense in letting on Harm is hampered by one of those injuries; he decides against.  "A short time later Sadik arrived at the camp; Rabb went with him willingly so he would leave the extended family alone.  After overnighting in a small camp not far away, he was taken to a training camp where he boarded a plane and disappeared."

            "Has anyone contacted the FAA to find out where the plane headed?" Dunston asks.

            AJ looks askance at Mac; she shakes her head with a little shrug of her shoulders added in.  "I'm not sure if that avenue has been approached or not; I'll pass your suggestion along," AJ promises.

            "What does this Sadik Fahd want?" DePalma asks.

            "Revenge.  Several years ago a CIA operation was undertaken to deprive him of some Stinger missiles he was planning to use on US targets.  He's trying to find a way to draw out those responsible for the success of that operation."

            "So why force Rabb's plane down?  Does he think Rabb was somehow involved in the destruction of his Stingers?" Dunston asks.

            AJ refuses to look over at Mac while he tries to skirt the truth without actually lying.  "I believe it was more of a case of being in the wrong place—or in this case plane—at the wrong time.  He was flying the CAG's plane and the consensus is that Sadik was aiming for the highest ranked officer he could get his hands on for bait."

            "How can he expect his bait to net him any fish if the fish can't find the bait?" Dunston muses.

            "I guess he doesn't know he already has his fish," DePalma comments.

            Dunston's head snaps up—that is even more shocking news than hearing Harm's name mentioned for the first time in three years.  

            "Where did you get that idea?" AJ asks, hoping his voice sounds calmer than he is feeling.

            DePalma shrugs.  "It was a guess.  But I'm right, aren't I?"

            "Yes, you are," AJ admits reluctantly.  "And that is definitely one piece of information that had better not find its way to the public.  If it gets back to Sadik, Harmon Rabb's life it forfeit."

            Dunston can't hold back any longer.  "How did you come to that conclusion?" he asks his colleague.

            "I met Harmon Rabb Jr. when he was 16.  He was in Vietnam looking for his father.  I ran into him 11 years later on the Seahawk—that was when he landed a damaged Tomcat from the back seat even though his last night trap had ended in a ramp strike.  That ride was supposed to be mine," DePalma shivers.  "He treated me decently—for an investigator dealing with a reporter during a murder investigation.  I tried to keep tabs on him after that; I wanted to see what he was doing with his life. I knew he dropped off the radar about three years ago; just about the same time Sadik Fahd's missiles were destroyed.  From the way Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie looked at each other when you asked about Rabb being involved, I just put the pieces together until they fit."

            "Did you come up with why he didn't come back here after Paraguay?" Bud asks.

            "I'm afraid not.  AJ do you have any insight on that subject?" DePalma asks.

            "Not at this time."  The finality in that statement is accepted without protest; they've actually gotten more information than they should have, they've both dealt with the people in this office enough—and they're both smart enough—to know not to push their luck.

            "Thank you for the information, AJ," DePalma offers.  "We'd better get going; we're already late," he says to Dunston.

            "Where are you headed?" Mac asks.

            "Our producers aren't very happy with us right now; Chuck's headed to Lima to cover the embassy take-over, I'm heading to the Middle East somewhere to cover a training camp for terrorists our military found and disbanded," Dunston supplies.

            "Keep your head down; I've heard there are rival bands out there," AJ warns Dunston.  "Admiral Morris, Colonel MacKenzie, if the two of you will stay for a minute, I have something I need to discuss with you."  As one, the JAG staff snaps to attention before exiting, followed closely by the two reporters.


	28. Chapter 28

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 28

            Morning slowly morphs into afternoon as Harm speaks to each of the Marines, outlining, without giving anything away, the way they can best help their rescuers when the time comes, hoping to avoid making them wonder how he obtained the knowledge in the first place.  And then the afternoon begins fading into evening and Harm hopes Sadik hasn't gotten the information he wants out of Meg's computer.  

            Gunnery Sergeant Parr is given more specific instructions than the marines under his command; Ambassador DeLong is given assurances that everything will turn out in the end, assurances she dismisses with demands of answers.  Assuring himself that he's only giving in because he feels lousy, Harm asks her to have Meg join them; he only wants to make this explanation once.

            Meg has been watching Harm from afar all day and she hasn't been happy with what she's been seeing. "Sir, you should rest for a while," she says when she approaches—close up, he looks even worse than he did from the other side of the room.

            Harm takes a sip of the water Jeffers has kept full for him and dredges up a smile.  "I thought you wanted answers," he counters mildly.  

            "They can wait, you need to rest."

            "I will after we've talked," Harm promises.  "Now sit down and tell me the sequence I asked you to remember earlier."

            Meg sits, albeit reluctantly.  "O1, orange, black, blue, green, 24, 3," she dutifully responds.

            "Very good," Harm smiles.  "You always did have a good memory."

            "What does that mean?" DeLong asks.  She reclaimed her seat while the other two spoke.

            "I'll answer your question in a while, but I think you both could use a little background to understand."  

Both women nod and wait patiently for him to begin, settling in to their chosen seats.

            Harm turns his attention to DeLong.  "Do you recall my partner when we were on the carrier?"

            "The Marine Major?  Sure."

            "She's a Lt. Colonel now, but that's beside the point; Mac and I were partners for six and a half years.  In May of 2003 the same CIA agent who essentially got us assigned together borrowed her for an assignment.  The assignment was Sadik Fahd.  When Admiral Chegwidden told me they had missed several check-ins, I asked to go to Paraguay; a request he denied.  I'd had a bad feeling about the assignment from the beginning, so I did the only thing I could think of, which was to submit my resignation and travel to Paraguay.  When I arrived I met up with a man who had served in our office—Gunnery Sergeant Galindez—who was also attached to the mission.  The CIA was going to leave Mac and Webb in Sadik's hands.  I couldn't let that happen.  Gunny and I attacked the compound and got them out, and then Mac and I went after the Stinger missiles while Gunny took Webb to a hospital.

            "To find the Stingers, we borrowed a plane from a German farmer, who incidentally was on Sadik's payroll.  I…appropriated some dynamite from the farmer and used it to take out the truck the Stingers were in, but one of Sadik's men managed to hit the plane.  After a…controlled landing, it took us a couple of days to get back to civilization.  Once we made it back to the States, I was made an offer I wasn't allowed to refuse."  Harm pauses at this point as a surge of anger rises.  

            "What was the offer?" Meg asks gently.

            Harm quickly tamps down the surge of anger.  "That my resignation would be null and void should I agree to work for the SecNav.  Although I find my current position rewarding and challenging, I admit I am a little bitter over being coerced into it.  To answer your earlier questions, Meg, for the past three years I've been leading a mixed Navy/Marine Corps team.  We report directly to and get our assignments directly from the SecNav."

            "So Sadik wants revenge against you for blowing up his Stinger missiles," DeLong summarizes.  

            "And apparently for being a better pilot than his son.  I'm not sure yet that he knows I was the one to destroy his missiles, but I'm sure once he gets into Meg's computer he will."

            "Have you ever met Commander Post, the other man he wants revenge against?" Meg asks.

            "I've never been introduced to him, but I do know him," Harm answers.  "And he's actually a captain now."  Harm wonders if Meg will put the information together, or if he'll have to spell it out for her.

            "What did he do to antagonize Sadik Fahd?"

            "There are two things it could have been, but most of the details are classified…and he's only mentioned one of the incidents."

            "What's not classified?" DeLong asks.  "And why wouldn't he have mentioned both?"

            "I'd actually be rather surprised to hear he knows what happened during the first incident; after the hostages were rescued the vessel upon which they were being held exploded.  It is still unclear whether something was damaged during the firefight that took place or whether one or more of the men assigned to watch the hostages decided they didn't want to be around to face Sadik's wrath when he discovered they were gone.  Either way, other than the hostages and the team who rescued them, no one made it off the vessel alive."

            "And the other incident?" DeLong prods.

            "Also a hostage rescue mission.  I'm not sure how Sadik found out that he hadn't killed Post after all, but I can tell you he had to have been very annoyed to have been thwarted in his plans."

            "If these missions are classified, how is it you know about them?" Meg asks.  "Wait, Commander Post is in command of a team like yours, isn't he?"

            Harm's going to have to spell it out for her after all.  "Not exactly.  If you were to look through the Navy's personnel files, you wouldn't find a Commander—or Captain—Post in there anywhere; he doesn't exist."

            He can see the information clicking into place.  "You're concerned Sadik is going to realize **you** are Post," Meg exclaims.  "That's why you're hoping the rescue will occur tonight."

            "It will be bad enough if Sadik makes the connection with Paraguay, but I will admit I'm more concerned with what might happen should he find out I was behind his failure three months ago as well," Harm admits.

            "Is that why you're transferring back to JAG?"

            "I'm not giving up command of my team; the SecNav isn't asking me to do that, he's trying to keep my team out of the field for a while.  Despite my team taking the leave time offered at the end of every mission, we have undertaken more missions than any two of the other teams put together.  We've always just been at the right place at the right time.  Only once were my men recalled from their leave time, and that was for the last mission where we encountered Sadik."

            "What about your leave time?" 

            "I think part of the reason my team has been chosen to stand down from active rotation is because I've refused all leave.  When my team would take their leave, I'd find someone, somewhere who needed a hand.  I did a lot of flying during team downtime.  Or when I couldn't lend a hand anywhere, I spent a lot of time studying, keeping up on current cases and expanding my understanding of languages."

            DeLong listens with interest as this seems to have become a personal conversation between the two former partners.  While she doesn't feel she is listening in on what would otherwise be a private conversation, she doesn't see any need to break in with a question or comment of her own; Meg's asking all the questions she would anyway.  "Why not just take the leave time?" Meg queries.

            "At first I was trying to make a point.  After that…well, I wasn't supposed to have contact with my former co-workers back at JAG and I spoke to my mom every few months.  I didn't really have anywhere to go or anything to do.  And I was afraid that if I went with the rest of the team I'd slip and divulge something about my past…or my real identity.  It's one thing to be undercover for an investigation that lasts a week or so; it's completely different when you have to depend on keeping your cover for an extended period of time.  I was afraid of getting too comfortable and slipping up."

            "So instead you'd find something to do to keep you occupied.  Didn't your team ever wonder?"

            "Actually except for when I was actually in the air or in my quarters, one of my team members stayed with me at all times.  There are two corporals…"  

            The door to the room flies open, cutting Harm off and letting the smell of what must be dinner permeate the room.  Harm can see Sadik from his vantage point, but the terrorist can't see him; the look on the other man's face tells Harm what he's feared—Sadik has gained access to the computer.  The anger on Sadik's face intensifies when he doesn't immediately spot Harm.  He's about to have his guards search the room when Harm enters his view, somewhat unsteadily.  

            "You are either very brave or very foolish to make yourself so available to me," Sadik comments once Harm has crossed the floor to where he's standing.  He hasn't missed the fact that not one of the others in the room has made an attempt to aid or hinder his progress.  

            "Why delay the inevitable?" Harm mutters.  "It's not like there's anyplace to hide in here."

            "And that would be unwise.  Since you are being so cooperative, I'll allow you to walk out of here…provided you can stay on your feet," Sadik remarks snidely as Harm sways a bit.  

            Harm settles for a glare as response and leaves the room in the company of the guards, without a look back.  Sadik, certain he's won, flashes a triumphant smile and follows, allowing the group waiting outside to enter with their burdens.  The meal is excellent and quickly consumed, but everyone's thoughts remain with the one of their group who's missing, making it a very somber meal.

            ***

            Harm is left alone once again after being brought to what he thinks is the same room—only instead of the room being colder than an iceberg, it's now hotter than the desert he trekked through…could it have been only a couple of days ago?  The aspirin Jeffers located to help his fever now seems a waste as the temperature in the room elevates his body temperature.

            Without the energy to or the necessity of remaining active to keep warm, Harm slumps in the corner, absently wondering if he'll be able to get back to his feet.  The heat saps his energy, but not enough to let him rest.  Fortunately perhaps, Sadik changes tactics in more than just the temperature; Harm is only left alone for half an hour before Sadik, Fasal and two of Sadik's largest men join him.  The two men yank him roughly to his feet, each keeping a firm grasp on one of his arms, neither caring if they cause pain.  Harm tenses as Fasal approaches with a knife; his captors do not permit any more movement than that.  The younger man takes pleasure in cutting the material that is keeping his injured arm tight against his chest, allowing both men holding to draw his arms behind his back.  He can't stop the cry of pain that escapes, bringing an evil smile to Sadik's face.

            "The way to stop the pain is to answer my questions," Sadik explains.  "If you do not answer, the pain will grow worse."  The stubborn glint in Harm's eyes makes him smile.  "What were you doing when you were working for the CIA in May of 2003?"

            Well, that definitely answers that question; they've either gotten into the computer and the Navy's database—or they're bluffing.  "I wasn't asked to undertake any missions for the CIA that month," Harm says carefully, using the literal truth to attempt to deny involvement.

            A fist planted in Harm's stomach explains in no uncertain terms that his subterfuge is not welcome.  "I already know you were working for the CIA—what I want to know is what you were doing for them," Sadik explains, as if to a small child, while Fasal grins broadly.

            Not a bluff, then, Harm realizes.  "Why don't you tell me what it is you think I was doing and I'll…"  He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence—his teeth snap together as his head snaps back from the force of the blow.  

            The smug satisfaction Fasal displays is quickly changed to contrite guilt—only a few curt words from Sadik are needed; no matter how insulting and uncooperative Harm is in the next hour, Fasal never again aims a punch above his shoulders.  

            The end to this round of questioning is unplanned—a series of loud explosions rock the compound.  The two men restraining Harm—or more accurately holding him up—involuntarily loosen their grips, allowing their burden to slip to the ground.  "Stay with him," Sadik points to one of the guards; Fasal and the other guard follow him into the hallway, leaving the door unlocked and open in their haste; the seemingly unconscious form of their captive undermining the normally cautious routine.  Mistake number one.

            Mistake number two is made by the remaining guard.  Not bothering to check or even glance at his charge, he plants himself in the doorway, facing into the hall.  He wants to be where the action is, not guarding someone he doesn't believe will getting up anytime soon.  As such, he only allocates a small bit of his attention to the room behind him, the rest of it straining to hear what's going on elsewhere in the compound—he's certain he'll hear Harm should he wake.  Harm only waits for a minute before he taps into his reserve energy and strength and quietly creeps up on his unsuspecting captor.  Knocking him out with a vicious move learned in training.  Though Harm notes the man is the one who wrenched his injured shoulder harder than really necessary, he doesn't entertain a single thought of revenge on his way out the door—Sadik will make the man pay dearly for allowing him to escape.

            Harm's not sure where in the embassy he is, but he knows he doesn't want to run into Sadik, so he turns right upon exiting the room—heading in the opposite direction from that which Sadik went.  A short way down the hall he hears voices coming towards him; his options appear nonexistent until he notices an archway close to the end of the hallway.  He makes it through just before the owners of the voices come around the corner, finding to his dismay that it is not another hallway as he hoped, but a set of stairs leading to the next floor.  Reluctantly he forces his aching body up the stairs.  Luck seems to have deserted him though, as he hears the men start up the stairs behind him.  For the moment hidden by the bend in the stairway, he surveys his options.  Three closed doors lead from the small landing at the top.  

            Harm tries the first door and swears softly to himself—it's locked.  The certainty that he'll get away from Sadik begins to falter when the second door also proves to be locked.  Almost hesitantly he tries the third and final door, releasing his pent up breath in when it the door opens, followed by a curse as the floor squeaks under his feet.  He closes the door behind him, reaching for the lock, and realizes why the door was open in the first place—no lock.  The pounding footsteps of the men following him prompt him to prop a chair under the handle and make for the only other exit—the window.  

            Disoriented as he is, Harm has no way of knowing he is on the third floor rather than the second as he suspects, and he's completely unaware of the changes to the wall following his last visit to the embassy.  Weakened by lack of food, sleep and the fever that's now raging through his system, his planned descent to the top of the wall and ends up being more of a freefall when he finds he doesn't have the strength to lower himself out the window—his tentative grip fails, starting the fall.  Instead of regaining control at the top of the wall, he slips down the rounded, smooth surface—modifications which were made following his previous visit to the embassy—wrenches his knee in a final attempt to regain control, finally falling the last two stories head first.  In hindsight, he probably should have used his injured arm rather than his sound one to keep from landing on his head, but the instinctive reaction of the moment put his right hand in the air above—or below as the case may be—his head to absorb the impact.

            His first thought upon crashing to a stop is that maybe he would have been better off with Sadik—a thought he immediately dismisses with remembrances of Webb's appearance when he and Gunny rescued Webb and Mac in Paraguay.  The second and third thoughts are almost simultaneous:  at least he landed on the side of the wall he was aiming for; and he'd better get moving—no telling if the two men he heard coming up the stairs behind him heard his slightly less than graceful descent.  

            Adrenaline carries him for a short time; the snail's pace he forces himself to maintain on the circuit around the embassy dampens it quickly.  It was only a vague hope that he might catch up with his team before they left the area; he's trained them too well for it to take so long for them to get the job done.  For a brief moment he curses his thoroughness before firmly putting that thought aside with the others—without the efficiency, he doesn't believe they would be the only team who hasn't had to break in at least one replacement over the last two years.

            The sound of a helo approaching breaks him out of his ill-timed reverie—now is not a good time for his attention to be wandering.  He watches as the helo touches down for a very short period of time before regaining altitude—with, from his current position, what appears to be a full cargo bay.  Pleased that his team completed their mission and followed his instructions, Harm turns his thoughts to how he's going to make it through the next 24 hours.  

            ***

            With the first explosion, everyone gathers in the center of the room as instructed by Harm, to facilitate the rescue.  They don't have long to wait; the door opens a moment later, leading Meg to believe the team was already well into the compound when the charges were detonated.

            Tow of the largest men they've ever seen move quickly but carefully around the perimeter of the room.  Two more men follow them into the room, heading directly to where the group is standing.  "Ambassador DeLong?" the tall blonde asks, looking from Meg to DeLong.

            "Yes," DeLong answers.

            "Lt. Commander Duncan?" Meg queries.

            "How did you know?" Duncan asks.

            "I have a message for you:  O1, orange, black, blue, green, 24, 3," Meg recites.

            The color drains from Duncan's face at the first word, and he whitens even further by the end.  "Listen up everyone," he says into the headset comm. gear they each wear, "Sadik is here and we've been ordered out.  Let's get these people out and regroup."

            Carefully, quickly and efficiently the team leads their charges back out the way they came; CPO Standes leads with half of the marines; Duncan, Delong and Meg are in the middle; followed by Jerry and the rest of the marines.  Jack volunteers to bring up the rear and no one notices he is missing until it's too late to go back after him.


	29. Chapter 29

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 29

            The next two days pass, business as usual, except for the tension in the air—the same sort of tension the office experienced years before when the same officer failed to return after rescuing another of their own.  This time however, the tension is joined by a sense of regret and anger.  No one's entirely sure who they're angry at, but each of the letters distributed by Mac sits unopened upon the desk of the intended recipient.  Perhaps in the back of their minds they believe that if they do not open the letters the events will somehow go away—or perhaps they're afraid that opening the letters will seal the fate of the author.

            Sturgis and Tiner wrap up their case in court and prepare to begin the first of the investigations—the _Coral Sea_ and _Patrick Henry_ battle groups are in the Mediterranean—they will begin there.  Mac and Bud silently adjust their working schedules, arriving at work an hour or two early each morning only to leave well after the close of business each evening.  The most promising of the junior attorneys find themselves sitting first chair in the prosecution and defense of some of the more simple cases—although both Mac and Bud happily squeeze them in to answer whatever questions or concerns that arise.

            Throughout the bullpen office doors are left open and conversations are muted as everyone keeps an ear open for any information from ZNN—reports by Chuck DePalma and Stuart Dunston stop all conversation.  

            It's early evening of the second day that AJ receives word that there will be an attempt to rescue the hostages from the embassy in Peru later that night.  The call is half courtesy—they've discovered one of his officers is among the hostages—and half question—where should they plan on sending the aforementioned officer when they're done with the debriefing and medical examinations.  As much as he would like to bring her to HQ to help relieve the burden, he determines the best place for her—provided she is up to it, of course—is back on the _Cookson_ where she can begin the investigations for the _Seahawk_ battle group. The call is ended with a promise to keep him informed.

            ***

            It's not until they reach the _Reprisal_ that Duncan is given the opportunity to speak to Meg privately.  He stops her briefly before she can enter the wardroom where the debriefing is to take place.  "How is Captain Rabb—the officer who gave you the message?" he asks, unaware that Meg once served with Harm.

            "Corporal Jeffers could answer your question better than I can, but in my opinion, he's not doing very well," she replies.

            "We were told he was injured when his Tomcat was destroyed; is there more?"

            "Other than lack of sleep and food, a raging fever and having to deal with Sadik?  Frankly I'm not sure how he's still able to function, but then again, he was nothing if not a constant surprise for the year I was partnered with him," Meg answers before slipping into the room, leaving a stunned Duncan standing outside.

            ***

            By the time the debriefing is finished, everyone is a little raw.  Parr and his men have been questioned extensively about how a couple of terrorists could sneak unnoticed onto the grounds and allow others in; Corporal Jeffers gives as detailed an account as he can on Harm's condition; Meg and DeLong report on their conversations with Harm and his suspicions; and Duncan is taken to task for losing a member of his team—his only defense is to insist Jack was with them when they cleared the embassy grounds.  He speculates the corporal may have deliberately remained behind to look for Harm.

            The former hostages are then sent to be checked over by medical personnel.  All are given a clean bill of health but ordered to take two days of rest before returning to duty.   As they prepare to disperse, McKnight requests that Meg and Duncan remain behind.  Once the others have cleared out of the room, he asks if the two would sit in while he places a call to AJ.  Both readily agree and follow McKnight to his quarters where a secure phone has been set up.

            ***

            Harm watches the lights of another truck disappear, swallowed by the woods.  He's certain it's one of Sadik's, something he's seen travel back and forth several times since he escaped the embassy.  He figures they are either looking for him or moving out of the embassy—or both.  

            It's taken him a while of carefully maneuvering through the streets to get to the edge of town—the necessity of hiding from the frequent trucks and the aftermath of his escape slowing him down.  He's afraid he's torn something in his knee—it sends a sharp pain up his leg every time he puts his weight on it.  He's also afraid landing on his right arm has at least caused a bad sprain, if not broken bones.  He's finished berating himself for using his only useable arm to break his fall; the annoyance factor is still in full force, but beating himself up over it will not change anything.

            Harm decided to head for Sadik's camp outside the city after watching the helo rise into the sky.  The information he overheard the previous night has finally wormed its way into his consciousness; he feels a responsibility to try to free Gary from Sadik's men—and hopefully get them both out of the country in the plane before the terrorist realizes his pilot isn't really working for him.  As of yet, his plan consists solely of getting to the camp, a task he's pretty sure is going to take him most of the night.  Since Sadik didn't necessarily have any concrete suspicions about Gary, Harm is hopeful the other man will be in a condition to fly them out.  As much as he hates to let someone else take the controls, he's honest enough to know that he'll be lucky to make it to the plane, much less fly it out.

            Sadik's men are out in full force.  In a way is makes it easier for Harm to locate the camp, but it also makes traveling more difficult.  Fortunately, Sadik's men are not woodsmen; they don't seem to be able to travel quietly.  Harm has little trouble avoiding those searching, or following the ones he's overheard talking about heading back to camp.  

            It's earlier than Harm originally anticipated when he finally spies the camp, possibly due to his excellent 'guides.'  There appear to only be a handful of men in the camp—or at least only awake.  Using the night as cover, Harm creeps towards the tent he's almost certain is housing Gary Houchausen—it seems to be 'guarded' by a lone man who appears to be trying to carry out his mission without looking like he's doing so.  It is ridiculously easy for Harm to slip into the tent unnoticed.

            "Harm?  What are you doing here?  You look terrible!" Gary exclaims when he sees who his 'visitor' is.

            Truth be told, Harm would like nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep for a week.  The fever from the infection is much worse; even in the cooler night air, Harm is sweating profusely.  Every step he takes jars every one of his injuries.  "We need to get out of here," he rasps out, desperately needing water as well.  He takes a sip from the canteen Gary offers and continues a little more normally, "Sadik has gotten into the Navy's database…"

            "But he already knows I was in the Navy," Gary protests.

            "Half the reason he grounded you here and risked detection by keeping your plane around was because he's not sure he can trust you.  I can't avoid his men forever—I want to use your plane to get out of here," Harm explains.  "And I really could use your skills as a pilot."

            The individual aspects of Harm's appearance finally dawn on Gary; the tattered and dirty clothes, the way he's trying to keep as much weight as possible off his right leg and yet remain upright, the awkward way his left arm—which he already knows isn't in top shape—is attempting to cradle the right, and the flush on the younger man's face.  "What happened to you?"

            Harm smiles sheepishly.  "Misjudged the distance from the window to the ground; and forgot to ask if any new security precautions were put into place since the last time I was here,"

            Gary rummages in his bag and comes up with a handful of bandannas.  "I don't have anything to splint that arm with, but we can free up your left hand," he explains while making a crude sling.

            "Thanks," Harm murmurs when he's done.  "You wouldn't happen to have enough of those to wrap a few around my right knee, would you?" Gary doesn't ask, he just sets to work doing the best he can, trying to ignore the fact that Harm is holding his breath the entire time.  "Thank you," Harm says again as he ties the last knot.  "Will you come with me?" he asks.

            "This is my assignment, I really should stay," Gary argues weakly, knowing full well he won't let Harm down.

            "If I manage to get away Sadik is going to scrutinize every person in his organization.  He's already half suspicious of you; you should get out while you can."

            Gary shrugs in agreement and takes a quick look around the tent; there's nothing there he needs or wants to take with him, he decides.  "All right, let's go," he acquiesces.

            Getting out of the camp is as easy as sneaking in.  The man 'guarding' the tent is occupied with something other than his job; he's not even facing the correct direction.  There isn't any other movement as they cautiously make their way out of camp.

            They don't converse on the way to the plane.  Gary has many questions he'd like to ask, but something in Harm's demeanor keeps him from speaking up—that and not wanting to alert any searchers to their presence.  He studies Harm as they walk, wanting to offer assistance, yet not quite knowing how without making the younger man feel weak.

            Although they occasionally hear one of the searchers, they don't see anyone.  The clearing where the plane sits comes into view in the predawn light.  Much to Harm's surprise, there isn't anyone guarding the plane—or anywhere in the clearing.

            "Stay back here while I make sure this isn't some sort of trap," Harm suggests after fifteen minutes of watching for movement.

            "You're not in any shape to be doing that," Gary protests.  Harm looks even worse than he did before:  his skin is flushed brightly from the fever and exertion and damp with sweat, his face is carved into a permanent scowl, his jaw is set against the pain and he's shaking from the lack of food and sleep; but it's his eyes that convince Gary to let him go.  Harm argues that if Gary was to go and it was indeed a trap, Gary would be exposed.  At least if they do it Harm's way, Gary can always slip off unseen if Harm is caught.  Catching the look of determination in Harm's eyes, Gary reluctantly agrees to the plan.

            Harm spends several more minutes observing, watching for even the tiniest sign of movement coming from the plane or the woods surrounding the clearing before he starts toward the plane.  Gary watches, and realizes that Harm is once again in his element; his condition may be slowing him down, but his movements seem as natural as watching him in the courtroom or in the front seat of an F-14.  Harm has once again found a way to make a job that may not be his first choice into one he's extremely good at.

            Once Gary sees Harm has made it to the plane without incident, he breaks from his cover to join him.  The cry of agony he hears a moment later coincides with Harm attempting to open the hatch.  He's at Harm's side a few seconds later, only then realizing that the cry came not from using jostling his injuries to open the door, but from an electronic shock someone set up to guard the door.  Harm is conscious, which is good because Gary realizes they have to run.  "Come on Harm, we need to get out of here!" he exclaims, pulling the larger man to his feet and attempting to ignore what are now whimpers of pain.  "Harm, this plane is going to blow, now move your six!" 

            A little groggy and dizzy and a lot confused, Harm forces his wobbly legs to work—this is worse than getting zapped by Coster's stun gun.  "Go," he urges Gary, breaking from his grasp.  "I'll be right behind you."  He only manages two steps to Gary's four when the plane behind them explodes, sending both men flying through the air.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N:  I want to thank everyone who's submitted a review for this story.  For some reason, whenever I get ready to post this here, I keep forgetting to add my notes and say Thank You.  I just hope you all know that although I am forgetful, I am also grateful for the encouragement.

Secrets and Sacrifices 

Part 30

            AJ replaces the phone in the cradle and sighs; he's not sure whether this new information is good or bad news.  He absently picks up the envelope propped next to his light as he turns his attention to the clock.  0339.  Why is it that calls like these always come in the middle of the night?  Sure, they may interrupt restless sleep, but restless sleep is better than the lack of sleep that usually follows.  

            Knowing full well he won't be getting any more sleep, AJ wanders out to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker, envelope still in hand.  It's not until he has to set it down to measure out the coffee that he realizes he's holding it.  For the first time in two days, he takes a good look at it, taking in the slightly tattered appearance brought about by being carried from office to home and back.  Making a quick decision, AJ finishes with the coffeemaker and heads to the bathroom to prepare for the day.  He takes his time fixing breakfast, finally settling down to eat with letter in hand.

            Nervously, AJ slits open the envelope and withdraws the contents, laughing when he notices it's written on yellow legal pad paper.  One last sip of coffee to fortify himself—although he's not really sure why he's so apprehensive—and AJ turns his attention to the writing on the paper.

                                                                                                                                                                                                May 12, 2004

            Admiral,

            If someone had told me that day in your office nearly a year ago that this would be the consequence of my decision to go after Mac in Paraguay, I would still have made the same decision, although not without regrets.  My first regret is that I am unable to tell my friends, co-workers or family where I am, what I've been doing, or even that I'm all right.  My second regret is not telling you what an honor it is to have served under you for nearly 8 years. One of the things this training has taught me is just how much you stuck your neck out and supported me, even though it would more than likely have been in your best interest to rid yourself of a troublesome officer.  Thank you.

             I've been given permission—grudgingly—to write a letter to my friends and family to explain my sudden disappearance, much like Douglas Marion once wrote a letter to his mother all those years ago.  Secretary Sheffield knows of the existence of these letters and has given his approval—once again grudgingly—to allow them to be distributed should I ever be killed or missing for more than 24 hours.  Since you're now holding this in your hand, I can only assume one or the other has occurred.  I had hoped to one day return to explain in person the reasons I disappeared the way I did; instead, I can only ask that you read this and hopefully forgive me for making another foolish mistake.

            Following my phone call with you, I received an unexpected visitor.  Somehow Sheffield found out about my resignation and threatened to send it through unless I agreed to work for him.  You asked me what I would do to keep Sarah once I found her in Paraguay—I never got the chance to even try, she was with Webb, but I would have done anything she asked.  Without her, all I had left was the Navy; it had been my life for as long as I could remember, and my desire even before that.  Returning to JAG was important to me, but in a way I'm glad I didn't; it would have hurt too much to have seen her with someone else again—seeing her with Webb in Paraguay…it was too much like her engagement to Brumby.

            Before I knew it, I had agreed to Sheffield's plan, packed my personal belongings and been thrown into what has to be the strangest assignment I've ever had.  It's almost funny—the way things changed daily for those first couple of months, I'm inclined to believe not everything went the way Sheffield planned, if he was even the one planning it.  I haven't had much luck looking into this aspect of things.  There is always at least one member of my team with me at all times—always one of the two corporals who arrived at my apartment with Sheffield.  Maybe now that we're about to head out on our first assignment they'll back off a bit and I'll be able to get to the bottom of things.

            It was a little awkward at first; none of the trainers knew what to do with a 'recruit' who outranked them.  Eventually I had to order them to ignore my rank for the duration—after reminding them that anything less than their best could get me and my team killed.  For the most part, my team members opted out of training they'd already received.  A simple test of their skills was necessary, and if they passed, they were allowed to skip that particular session.  Sheffield obviously didn't think I could have any of the skills, being a lawyer; I took the training sessions as refresher courses, and attempted to hone my skills.  I don't think Sheffield ever realized I needed most of that training less than the other team members.  Don't get me wrong, they're a good team…they've each done what's been asked of them, and the few times their skills weren't up to the standards Sheffield—or whoever is running this thing—were looking for, they participated in the training without complaint.  For the most part, they stuck around when they weren't required to train; not a single one of them has friends or family they wanted to visit.  I suppose that—and the fact that each of them volunteered for this assignment—is the biggest difference among us.  I have friends and family I'd like to visit, but I've been told it would break my cover.  My infrequent calls to my mother are placed so no one can trace them, and all I'm pretty much allowed to do is assure her I'm all right.  I know she doesn't understand, but what really can I do?

            Now that we're set to begin our first mission, I find myself wondering if I'll be able to do the job.  I'm an ex-fighter jock who's also an ex-lawyer, what am I doing preparing to lead a team of…I don't even know what to call it.  I have been told there are four other teams, all still in training.  Each of the teams is a mix of Navy and Marine personnel, and the make-up of each team is different.  I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting any of the members from the other teams; word is they won't be finished for another two or three months—I believe Sheffield would tell me I'm the reason my team's done early.  Because we are done first, we get the 'honor' of taking the first mission.  I'm not sure why it's so special, or even why he thinks these teams are so special…perhaps I'm going to find out tonight.

            Having explained all that, I'd like to make one request:  don't blame yourself, for any of it.  I made the decision to submit my resignation and I made the decision to take Sheffield up on his 'offer.'  Now that I know how much he wanted me in on this project of his—although I'm still not clear on why—I'm not sure that I still wouldn't have ended up where I am today.  I believe that even had Webb's plan gone perfectly and they both arrived back in the states on their own without so much as a scratch, Sheffield would have eventually come up with a way to draw me into this position—I'm almost glad I didn't have to find out what that plan would have been.  What I'm trying to say is it was inevitable I left your command at some point; while I will always regret the way I did so, I am relieved it didn't come down to some sort of tug-of-war that may have had negative effects for JAG—and you.  

            It has been an honor and a privilege to serve under your command.

            HRjr

            AJ's coffee and breakfast sit cold and half eaten on the table in front of him.  Ever since the interrupted meeting aboard the _Reprisal_ he has felt somewhat responsible for putting Harm in his current position.  With Sadik back on the scene, AJ feels even more responsible; despite Harm's words, had he simply refused Webb's request, Mac would never have needed rescuing, Harm never would have submitted the resignation, and neither officer would have been at personal risk from the terrorist.  How can he not shoulder some of the blame?  

            Disgusted with himself and unhappy with the turn of events, AJ cleans up his mess, stuffs the letter in his briefcase and head for the office.  He wants to have a meeting with certain staff members and he's sure they'll all be in early.

            ***

            Gary staggers to his feet after rolling to a stop and looks back at the burning aircraft.  Harm's crumpled form is a few feet behind him; braving the inferno too close to their position, he hurries to check on his friend.  Cold fear skitters up his spine upon his first close glance at Harm, until he can see he's breathing.  "Harm?" he calls softly, placing a hand gently on the left shoulder.  His hand encounters sticky dirt, the wound has reopened again.  

            The telltale signs of breathing grow shallower, causing him to panic for a moment.  Harm slowly pushes himself off his stomach with his right arm, wincing at the movement, and sucks in another couple of breaths.  "This is getting very old," he mutters when he's regained control of his speech.  "Are you hurt?" he asks Gary quickly, refocusing his thoughts.

            Gary looks at him in disbelief for a second before assuring him he's not hurt beyond a few cuts and bruises.  "What about you?" he adds. From where he's standing, Gary can see there is a new, deep cut above Harm's right eye, extending back into his hairline along with numerous scratches.  Harm's eyes are slightly glazed, whether from the shock or landing, Gary can't tell, but at least he's lucid.  Other than that and the reopening of the prior wound, he can't see anything else wrong.

            "I don't think I'd recommend the technique to anyone, but that landing seems to have made my arm feel better," Harm observes, testing out his theory by moving his right arm around.  "Maybe I just dislocated the shoulder earlier.  Let's get away from this inferno before we both roast," he suggests, struggling to his feet.

            With Gary torn between wanting to get farther away before their skin starts blistering and wanting to make sure Harm's not injured any more before allowing him to move, Harm stumbles a few steps on his own before he catches up.  Because Harm mentioned his right arm was feeling better, he steps around to that side to assist.  Every limping step gets them to cooler air, making it easier for both men to breathe.  "Let's get into the woods before we stop," Harm proposes, not really expecting opposition since they're already moving.  

            Slowly but surely, the two make their way across the clearing and into the woods.  Harm refuses to stop until he finds a downed tree he can more or less prop himself up on—it'll be easier to get going after they rest.  

            "What was that about?" he asks, indicating the burning aircraft.  

            "When you went down out there I remembered a conversation I overheard.  Fasal was boasting to someone about being able to rig a booby trap that would stun anyone trying to get in to whatever he wanted them out of.  It was more the words after, that he thought it would be fitting for whatever person it was who attempted unauthorized entry to possibly regain at least a small measure of their wits before they were then taken out by the second half of his trap."

            "Nice guy," Harm comments.  "He seemed, I don't know, a little saner than his father when I first met him.  Probably just trying to trick me into trusting him."

            "More than likely," Gary concurs.  "In many ways, I think he's worse than Sadik."  He lets Harm digest that tidbit for a moment then turns his attention to their problem.  "What's your plan now?" he asks.

            "Back to the embassy to wait for my team; they'll be back for me this evening."

            "Why didn't you just wait for them there?" Gary demands.

            "I wanted to take a stroll through the woods," Harm replies sarcastically.  "I'm sure you didn't have any idea that Sadik may suspect you, but I did.  I couldn't just leave you behind," he continues seriously.  

            "How can you be sure he suspected something?"  
  


            "A comment he made to one of his men.  He doesn't know I speak his language, it's not something I advertise, even to my team."

            "I guess I should thank you for saving my life."

            "Not necessary.  On that, I believe we're even."

            Gary has been watching Harm during their conversation.  The latter has been checking himself over, gingerly probing the cut on his head and testing his previously injured right arm, all the while trying his hardest not to jostle the once again throbbing left arm.  "How are you doing over there?" Gary asks finally.

            "Let's see, my head's killing me—throbbing in tempo with my left arm—my right knee is going to give me problems but my right arm seems to be useable now," he reports, although not telling the whole truth; Gary fortunately didn't see the rocks he levered himself up off of in the clearing, or he never would have allowed him to walk as far as they did.  Both men feel as if they have a bad sunburn—courtesy of the burning plane.

            "What time is your team returning for you?" Gary asks, glancing at the slowly ascending sun.

            "A couple of hours after dark, most likely," Harm answers.  "We should have plenty of time to get back to the embassy without overdoing it."  

            "We have no food, no water, you're injured and we're going to be traveling during the hottest part of the day…are you really that optimistic or just trying to be so for my benefit?" Gary questions.

            "I've found that optimism is useful in all the careers I've pursued over the years," Harm responds.  "Sadik's men will are probably heading this way as we speak.  We can travel until we get past the camp, rest for the hottest part of the afternoon, and resume our journey in the evening.  Maybe we'll even get lucky somewhere along the way and find something to eat…or at least some water."  

            Ignoring the niggling doubt at the back of his mind, Gary agrees to the plan—after all, Harm has been doing this for some time, and he should know his own limits, so everything should go as planned…right?  He allows Harm to set the pace and direction, taking up position on his right side, ready to offer assistance should it be needed.  

            "You know Harm, this doesn't look a bit familiar to me," Gary comments a couple of hours later, pulling the tall officer to a halt.  Harm's been leaning on him more and more in the last hour, and he's decided to declare a rest stop.  

            "I have us on a course parallel to the one we took earlier," Harm replies, pain evident in his voice.  He's sucking in shallow breaths through his mouth, holding on to his right side while trying to appear not to be.  Gary helps him lean against the trunk of a tree, frowning when he slides to a seated position, ignoring the rasp of bark on his already abraded back.  

            Gary eyes him closely in the tree-filtered sunlight.  He notes the pallor under the flush from exertion and fever, the pain etched around tired eyes and the now obvious discomfort on his right side.  "Let me take a look at your side," Gary requests.

            Harm can't summon a refusal; every breath, every step, every movement sends knifing pains through his body.  He's drained his reserves to nearly empty and is rapidly approaching the point where he just won't be able to do it any more—he's finally reached his limit.  One could argue that with no food and very little water for two days, a lot of men would have reached this point long before now—without the added burden of injuries, fever, lack of sleep and stress from being held and interrogated.  Harm on the other hand, feels he is letting everyone down by allowing the weakness to gain even a finger hold, even though he can do nothing about it.

            Gary lifts the edge of Harm's shirt; while the bruises from the interrupted line of questioning contrast sharply with the few patches of unmarked skin, a much larger, even more rapidly forming bruise stands out sharply along Harm's right side. Gary touches it softly, but it still elicits a groan from Harm.

            "How long were you going to try to hide this?" he asks harshly.

            "As long as possible," Harm admits quietly.  "Look, I'm not going to make it back to the embassy, or even to Sadik's camp like this—I want you to go on back.  When my team comes to pick me up, just point them in this direction.  They'll eventually find me."

            Gary lets out a sharp laugh.  "You really think I'm going to fall for that; that I'm just going to leave you here for Sadik's men to find?  His men are already out there and you and I both know they're going to be scouring this entire area.  Either we both keep going or we both stay put, but there is no way I'm going to leave you alone out here," he argues.

            Harm manages a small smile that quickly turns into a frown.  He puts up a hand for silence when Gary opens his mouth to ask a question, points at his ear and then the woods.  Gary immediately understands, and both men listen intently.  A moment later, a faint scuffling noise can be heard, but before either man can even think of moving, a figure steps into the clearing.


	31. Chapter 31

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 31

When word comes from those watching the embassy that Sadik abandoned the place, Duncan argues long and hard for his team to have permission to search the buildings and grounds. Permission is grudging given. Parr accompanies the team since he is familiar with the layout; a team of SEaLs goes along to secure the compound. Each room is searched with caution, but there are no surprises left behind. The only damage to the embassy is a splintered door on the third floor and a strange reworking of the heating/air conditioning unit that puzzles everyone until Parr explains what the room was most likely used for. A close inspection of the room proves the theory.

"It doesn't look like they left in a hurry," Sharpe comments.

"That meshes with what the lookouts reported," Duncan agrees. "They also reported it didn't appear they had any prisoners; the captain and Jack must have gotten away."

"Captain Rabb mentioned Sadik had a camp outside town, near where the plane landed. Maybe they withdrew to there," Parr suggests.

"Did he say which direction?"

"No."

While Parr and Duncan pour over a map, attempting to determine the most likely direction for the camp, Sharpe excuses himself to update the _Reprisal_ on their search. He's back a few minutes later with news. "There are reports of an explosion south and a little east of the city. Satellite imagery places it near what could be a landing strip," he reports.

"Well, we know Sadik forced the captain onto a plane; what's the chance the plane is the object in question?" Duncan queries.

"I hope Captain Rabb wasn't aboard if that's the case," Parr comments nervously.

"With all the trouble Sadik has gone through to find him, I don't think he'd destroy the plane with the captain on it…at least not deliberately. He'd be more likely to let him go and trap him again later," Duncan rationalizes.

Parr is a bit skeptical, but agrees with the assessment. "You're probably right."

"Did they give us the go-ahead to check it out?" Duncan asks Sharpe.

"Even before I asked. The SEaL team is to remain here until the rest of the Marines are ready to return; Gunnery Sergeant Parr may remain here or return to the _Reprisal_; and we are to exercise 'utmost caution' in our search for Captain Rabb and Corporal Hercules," Sharpe reports.

Duncan smiles. "Guess he knew we'd go anyway. Lieutenant, call the team in; we'll be leaving in a ten minutes." The ten minutes will give the team plenty of time to ensure their supplies are sufficient for the next part of their mission. Sure enough, when he joins the team a few minutes later, Jerry hands him his pack, already loaded with his share of extra food and water. Satisfied they're as prepared as possible, the team heads out exactly ten minutes after the announcement.

* * *

Harm lets out a sigh of relief when he sees who the newcomer is. "It's good to see you, Corporal," he greets Jack.

"Captain, I'm glad I found you," Jack returns. "You don't look like you're doing very well," he observes.

Gary laughs at the look of consternation that crosses Harm's face. "That's because he's not, Corporal," he offers. "He's pretty much traveled himself into the ground."

"I just need to rest for a bit, get my breath back and I'll be good to go," Harm protests. He accepts one of the high nutrition granola bars the team carries from Jack along with a canteen. "I should have known you or Jerry would find me sooner or later."

Jack simply smiles in response and pulls a radio out of his pocket. "I found them," he reports without preamble. The two aviators listen to the occasional comments he makes while taking the edge off their hunger and thirst. "When you're ready, we'll get moving," he tells them after finishing his conversation. "We have some ground to cover and I'd like to do as much as possible before noon—it's going to be hot today."

Knowing full well neither of the other men will make the first move, Harm struggles to his feet. He moves stiffly and slowly, but eventually stands somewhat unsteadily in front of his companions. "Lead on," he challenges.

For a time they travel single file; Jack leads followed closely by Harm then Gary. The CIA pilot finds his gaze drifting more and more from Harm to Jack, a feeling of unease sending shivers up and down his spine. "How well do you know him?" he asks, catching up with Harm.

Harm looks at Gary, stunned. "He's been on my team for the last three years, assigned by the SecNav. Why?"

"Something about him makes me uneasy. I can't put my finger on it though."

For a moment, Harm doesn't respond, searching his memory to find any reason for Gary's uneasiness. "Could it be his appearance?" he asks finally. "A lot of people I've met are nervous around him and Jerry until they realize they are really gentle giants unless provoked."

"I don't think so, but maybe…"

"Jack and Jerry have been my constant companions since my team was formed; neither one has given me any reason to doubt their loyalty. On the contrary, I often wished they weren't so focused in their duties—it would have been nice to have had a little time to myself once in a while."

"You're probably right," Gary says after a few minutes. "You know him better than I do; it's probably just nerves from this whole situation." He feels a bit guilty for bringing up the subject when Harm can only manage a small smile in response.

Jack has been watching the men converse, curious as to the topic, but not interrupting to find out. "Anyone need a break?" he calls when he sees an opportunity, also stopping to let them catch up.

Harm and Gary stop when they catch up to Jack; both men pull out the canteens Jack provided them with and take a long drink. Harm feels terrible; he's hot, sweaty and achy from the fever and exertion. His injuries throb in time with his heartbeat. He knows Gary and Jack will follow his lead, and although he would like nothing more than to sit down for a few minutes, he's not certain it would help matters any. "Let's keep going. I don't know that I'll get started again if we stop." As predicted, neither of his companions raises any objections and the three resume their hike.

Forty-five minutes later they step into a clearing. "This is Sadik's camp. Are you sure this is where we're meeting the team?" Harm asks, warily advancing with his confident teammate. "Did Sadik abandon this place too, or have you already rounded him and his men up?"

"This is where I said we were going to meet the others," Jack responds. They've made their way among the tents and are approaching the center clearing. "That must be them now." Jack points to two figures exiting one of the tents.

Harm stumbles back a step and comes up against an immovable object—Jack. The larger man puts a hand on his arm ostensibly to steady him, but his grip tightens when Harm is able to verify who is approaching. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

Beside Harm, Gary is also being restrained by Jack. "Now I know why I was so uneasy earlier," he tells Harm. "I saw a picture of Jack once; Sadik was waving it around to make a point."

"He was probably trying to motivate some of his worthless recruits," Jack laughs. He raises his voice so it will carry to the approaching duo. "Uncle, Cousin, I brought you a present: my former commanding officer, Captain Harmon Rabb, also known to you as Commander Jackson Post."

Harm feels the blood drain from his face; he can't believe he's had one of Sadik's men—heck one of his family members—working with him all this time. Suddenly his situation seems hopeless. It was bad enough when Sadik knew about him being in Paraguay, but now that he knows he was also behind his other failures, Harm's certain things have just gotten much, much worse. With Sadik's voice describing all the things he's planning to do to him, the stoic avoidance of his condition crumbles, sending the reality of his physical problems crashing down on top of the new emotional turmoil; Harm does what even the strongest of men would do—he escapes for a time into the beckoning blackness of oblivion.

AN: I had to cut this one a bit short. I noticed that my timeline was messed up and had to break it here to be able to get it back on track. I will be at FanFest this weekend, so I won't have any updates for you until sometime next week (I hope)


	32. Chapter 32

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 32

The first thing Harm is aware of when he regains consciousness is how hot he is. He pries open his unwilling eyes and is rewarded with a view of the inside of one of the tents. The flaps are closed; with the sun beating down and no breeze moving through the heavy canvas of the tent, the air inside is stifling.

The first thing he remembers when he is cognizant enough is Jack's betrayal. He recalls at the same time the tortures Sadik was describing when he made good the only escape he was able to. With those thoughts comes an awareness that even while he was unconscious, Sadik carried through on at least one of his threats. He takes a quick inventory and discovers that, fortunately, the only additional aches he can feel are the bottoms of his feet—obviously designed to dissuade him from attempting another escape.

Gary moves into view, interrupting all the possible places his thoughts could wander. "I guess it wasn't all just a dream," Harm comments hoarsely.

Intent on his task, Gary missed seeing Harm's eyes open; he jumps, startled, but neither man laughs. "It's a nightmare, not just a dream," he states. He produces a canteen of lukewarm water and offers it to Harm.

"You wouldn't happen to have any aspirin lying around, would you?" Harm asks hopefully after taking a swig of the water. As he's come fully awake, all the aches and pains—old and new—have decided to vie for his attention.

Gary laughs uncomfortably and won't meet Harm's eyes. "Sorry, I'm all out."

"That's ok; I'm not really sure aspirin would do much for me now anyway," Harm says quickly, attempting to lighten the tension he can feel coming from his former mentor. "What's going on Gary?" he asks, catching a quickly masked wince.

"Nothing," Gary replies, still avoiding his gaze.

"Does this 'nothing' have to do with why my left shoulder hurts even more than it did earlier—or why it feels as though I'm standing in a bed of hot coals?" Harm questions bluntly. "I heard some of what Sadik was saying before I passed out, what exactly did he do to me?"

Trying to stay somewhat detached from the memory, Gary gives an account of what Sadik forced him to witness while Harm was unconscious. He repeats the running commentary provided by Sadik while Jack and Fasal performed the actual deed, and confirms Harm's suspicions that he chose the method used to keep the object of his ire from getting away from him again.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Harm comments wryly. He carefully appraises Gary's situation; he doesn't see any evidence Sadik has done anything to the older man—at least not physically—yet. "Look, what I said earlier stands. If you can get out of here…"

"No!" Gary interrupts harshly. "No I can't do that. While they were…" he gestures in the direction of Harm's feet, "…Sadik also described to me in detail what he would do to you if I even attempted to escape. But what was even worse is what he threatened to do if I was successful." Gary is silently pleading for Harm to consider the subject closed by the end of the last sentence.

No such luck. "What?" Harm asks.

He can't bring himself to spell out exactly what he was told, "Harm, he's determined to make you pay. He says he won't kill you, but he's positive you will soon be begging for death. If he does even a fraction of the things he described to me, I'd have to agree with him."

Harm forces himself to remain calm while Gary struggles with what to tell him. "I understand the risks, but I'd feel much better if you'd get out of here should the opportunity arise. Sadik is probably planning on doing whatever it is he described to you anyway; I don't think you staying around is going to change his plans where I'm concerned," he confides, trying to sound unconcerned. While outwardly he manages to carry off the charade, inwardly he's shaking. As memories of the events of Paraguay flood his mind, mixing with the bits and pieces he remembers hearing from Sadik, Harm once again welcomes oblivion as his overstressed body and mind demand a bit of relief.

Lost again in his own thoughts, Gary doesn't see Harm's eyes close, but a minute or two later he notes the evening out of Harm's breathing and the very slight relaxation of the tension visible in his entire frame. He has to force himself to concede Harm does have a point; he too is sure that Sadik will apply the tortures he described whether he leaves or not—he's just not sure he can convince his conscience leaving is the right thing to do. With those thoughts running through his head, Gary stretches out to grab some much needed rest.

* * *

Bud and Harriet sit at their kitchen table, enjoying a few moments of peaceful downtime before they go their separate ways—Bud to work to get some of the more mundane paperwork out of the way before the day starts in earnest, and Harriet to get the kids ready for the babysitter's so she can also head in to the office. Between them on the table, propped up against the sugar bowl, is the envelope addressed to them.

This envelope is slightly less tattered than the one for the Admiral; it has been placed carefully in Bud's briefcase for each trip to and from the office. Neither one can completely ignore the pull the envelope holds for them, but neither wants to be the first to admit they were wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, Harriet watches the digital clock on the microwave change to 4:17. She sighs at the thought of yet another long day and hopes that something will happen soon to ease the burden on her friends and family. Unbidden, her gaze travels back to the envelope.

Not for the first time, Bud notices the direction of his wife's gaze, and he joins her in watching the offending item, both of them eyeing it as they would a dangerous animal that might threaten their family. "We should probably read that at some point," he concedes softly. His eyes lock with those of his wife, each one silently asking the other, 'are you ready to forgive him?'

The young couple was at first hurt, and then angry when Harm disappeared without a word. Despite their best intentions, the hurt and anger grew to the current feelings of resentment, apathy and indifference. As much as they tried, they couldn't keep their changing feelings from their perceptive older son, inadvertently causing him to disavow his previously expressed love for his godfather. It wasn't until they found him not so carefully boxing up all the toys given him by his 'Uncle Harm' that they realized the extent of his feelings. For some reason they couldn't fathom at the time despite their feelings on the matter, neither Bud or Harriet could bring themselves to put the boxes out for the garbage as instructed by the precocious 5 year old—the boxes have since been sitting, untouched, in the back of the attic.

With that recollection fresh in her mind, Harriet quickly snatches up the offending envelope and slits it open with her knife, trying to accomplish her task before he can second guess her decision. She hesitates before removing the contents, meeting Bud's troubled gaze across the table. Looking into his eyes, she loses her nerve, and slides the envelope over to him, her eyes pleading for him to do what she cannot.

Bud understands at once—she wants to know what's inside the letter, but she's also afraid to read it—afraid that their anger, hurt and resentment is unwarranted. In their hearts, both know that Harm would never abandon his friends and family willingly—although with the way they all tucked their tails between their legs and ran when he was in the bring charged with Singer's murder, they shouldn't blame him. Bud resolutely pushes the negative emotions aside, pulls the letter from the envelope and begins to read aloud:

May 12, 2004

Bud and Harriet-

Had someone told me year ago just what the consequences of my decision to find Mac in Paraguay would be, I would still have made the same decision, although not without considerable regrets. My biggest regret is I didn't have the opportunity to tell my friends and family goodbye.

As a special concession due to the way my current assignment was offered, you are reading this letter because I have either been missing for more than 24 hours or I'm not coming back at all. Either way, I wanted a chance to explain why I left the way I did.

It was my intention to do anything I had to do to find Mac and bring her back to JAG, which I did. It was also my intention to do anything I had to do to return to JAG; I would have begged, groveled, pleaded…anything to return to the Navy. Despite submitting my resignation, leaving the service was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn't see any other option that would allow me to travel to Paraguay after I was denied leave.

Once I returned, I found much to my surprise, that I didn't have to beg; I was to be allowed to return, although not without some sort of punishment duty I was assured. Only a couple of hours after speaking to the admiral, I found that somehow the SecNav found out about my resignation. He told me the only way I would be able to stay in the Navy was to work for him. As I had no reason to disbelieve him, I acquiesced to his request, not knowing just what it would cost me until later.

It would be understandable if the two of you were angry with me for leaving so abruptly. I never wanted to leave without saying goodbye to you or AJ. His 5th birthday is in a few days; I would do almost anything to be there for it…except the one thing that could guarantee my presence—resigning from the Navy again. It was difficult for me to understand why my father never returned from Vietnam, even though I knew he was out serving is country. Although it is nowhere near the same situation, I can't help but wonder if AJ will be upset that I'm gone. I hope you can assure him I didn't want to leave. I've written him a separate letter; I'd appreciate it if you would give it to him for me.

The two of you never cease to amaze me. You have a great marriage, two wonderful children (I'm assuming your second child is wonderful; I don't have any facts except you have a healthy baby), solid careers and the support of each other to carry you through adversity. Yes, you've had some hard times in your lives, I certainly don't deny that, but your trials have made you stronger, both individually and as a couple. That is the kind of love I always hoped to find.

Bud, you may not know it, but you've had my respect and admiration for years. You've become one heck of a lawyer and officer. From the time you joined JAG HQ, you had answers to some of the hardest questions we've come across—or you looked until you found the answers in an amazingly short period of time. I admit I took full advantage of your resourcefulness while you were my aide, and often after you passed the bar. It was hard losing a good aide, but we got a fine lawyer out of the deal.

Harriet, I'm always amazed at how you are able to juggle so many things at once; not only the little day-to-day office tasks, but also being a wife, mother and officer. When you add in the thoughtful extra things you do to make things go smoother for the rest of us, I find I don't have any words to describe my thoughts. I do admit the way you conned me into helping you buy your house without Bud's knowledge was sneaky and sly—much like tactics some lawyers have been known to use in the courtroom.

I don't expect you to understand the decisions I made that brought me to this point; I only hope you understand that I felt I had to make them. Take care of your family and each other; you have a wonderful thing going there.

Harm

* * *

An hour later, Gary has resumed his watch over his uneasily resting friend and is listening to the bustling activity of the quiet slowly. This time he sees Harm begin to stir and is at his side immediately with the canteen before he wakes fully. His concern for Harm grows when he notices the sheen of sweat, the fine tremors shaking his body, and the dazed, glassy look in his eyes. It takes several minutes for Harm to focus on his surroundings, worrying Gary even more.

"How are you feeling?" Gary asks.

Harm's eyes resume their far away look as he ponders the question, nearly causing Gary to panic. After a minute, Harm responds, "I think it's a good thing that I can't feel any individual injuries…except for the fact that my feet feel like they're on fire. Why is that?" he asks without remembering they already covered that topic earlier.

"How bad is it?" Gary responds with a question, hoping to distract Harm long enough for him to forget he's asked a question—should be easy considering he still seems pretty well out of it.

"I can handle it," Harm states resolutely.

"Good, because we're leaving," Jack interrupts from the entrance to the tent.

"Where are we going?" Harm asks.

"That information is need-to-know and you don't need to know," Jack tosses one of Harm's least liked phrases at him. There's no flash of anger in Harm's eyes, much to Jack's delight, just a weary resignation.

"My plane has been destroyed. How are we getting there?" Gary asks, pulling Jack's attention from Harm.

Jack smiles a nasty smile; a matched pair of Sadik's goons enter the tent behind him. Although not quite as large and imposing as Jack and Jerry, these two still have at least 50lbs each on Harm, most of it muscle. "On your feet," Jack commands.

"You've got to be kidding!" Gary exclaims, making Harm wonder even more what Sadik did while he was out of it.

Jack's eyes are hard. "Do I look like I'm kidding" he asks harshly. "Now either you get to your feet on your own or my friends here will drag you out."

Harm honestly tries—he doesn't want to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing him defeated—but he can't even manage to roll onto his back. Gary kneels down to help him; together they get him to his knees where he sways dizzily. "I'll distract these guys, you get out of here," Harm whispers to his former mentor. "Please?"

Gary acquiesces with silent protest. He feels himself being pulled backwards as Jack moves him to make room for the twin goons to pull Harm to his feet. Jack shoves Gary out ahead of himself, the latter looking for any opening for an escape. Harm creates the opening for him a few steps outside of the tent. Not entirely faking, he slumps between his captors, feeling relief when his weight is removed from his burning feet; even the pull on his injured shoulders causes less pain than that of being on his feet. Jack's attention is momentarily diverted when all three topple to the ground, the pair holding Harm up not anticipating the move. Sending a prayer of protection up for the younger man, Gary makes his move, darting behind the tent and running for the safety of the woods. He's out of sight before the tangle on the ground is sorted out.

"Your friend abandoned you," Jack taunts Harm after they've gotten him back on his feet.

"I told him to go, he hasn't abandoned me," Harm corrects his former team member. He stands uncomfortably, arms pinned behind his back, not allowing any reprieve for any of his injuries.

"He must not like you much," Jack continues, ignoring Harm's comment. "My uncle described what he'd do to you should he try to escape. It's just lucky for you we're going to be traveling for a while; otherwise I'd have to do something like this." He suits actions to words, demonstrating a wicked right cross. For an unmeasured amount of time, he continues to strike his former team leader, bringing out his long suppressed anger towards the man who cost his uncle everything. By the time he's finished, the last of the men in camp have gathered, the entire group cajoling him to continue long past the prudent time to stop. Eventually he does quit, ordering Harm to be taken to the last truck—the same troop transport he was brought in on.

From a distance, Gary can hear the cheering. Although a large part of him wants to go back, the much smaller, more rational part reminds him it won't change things for Harm and keeps him on the track away from the camp. He's paying more attention to the inward argument than to where he's going, darting around trees without conscious effort, not even sure what direction he's headed in, when one of the trees moves suddenly into his path. The collision knocks them both to the ground. Before he can regain his feet and resume his headlong flight, the distinctive sound of an assault rifle being brought to the ready position freezes him in mid-motion.


	33. Chapter 33

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 33

Sturgis has long since given up on getting any more sleep before resuming his current investigation. He's already been out for his customary 'morning' run, adding a few extra laps around the deck for stress relief before he goes back to work. For the first time in his life, the walls seem to be closing in on him, but he's fairly certain he knows the reason: sitting on the desk in his quarters—and temporary office—is the letter written to him by one of his oldest friends. A letter he's hesitant to read for various reasons.

Admitting defeat after nearly knocking over a pair of off-duty crewmembers out enjoying the mild spring day, Sturgis retreats to his quarters to shower and face his fears. Dressed in a clean uniform, he acknowledges his earlier self-promise and picks up the envelope with his name in the unmistakable handwriting of his long-time friend.

May 12, 2004

Sturgis-

Had I known a year ago that this is where I'd be after going after Mac in Paraguay; I still would have done it. I'm not saying I don't have regrets, but knowing she's safe at JAG and not buried in an unmarked grave somewhere is enough for me.

You often wondered why we never did anything about the…attraction…between us—I often wondered the same thing. At the time, I believe the compelling reason was our careers—neither of us was ready to give up the safety and familiarity of JAG to move forward in a relationship. Giving up my career to rescue her in Paraguay should have solved that problem, but I was too late. I don't know whether she is still with him or not, but she was closer to Clayton Webb than she and I had ever been—once again, I lost.

That, however, isn't the reason I've been out of touch. That whole fiasco is not of my doing, but according to the personal orders of our esteemed SecNav. He arrived on my doorstep just a few hours after I finally got home, telling me that the resignation I had submitted—but Chegwidden hadn't processed—would be 'honored' unless I went to work for him. It was probably a combination of things—lack of sleep, fallout from the trip, residual stress from the Singer fiasco—but for some reason I found myself agreeing to his terms. I had my personal belongings packed and was on my way to whatever he had planned before the sun came up.

What followed was what was supposed to be two years worth of training condensed into a single year—I admit I had something to do with the shortened timetable. Denied any opportunity to contact anyone at JAG—and only minimal contact with my family—I threw myself into my new responsibilities and found, much to my surprise, that I not only enjoy this new career, but also am good at it. We have just finished that year of training, and have been told that our first mission will begin tomorrow; leading this team of Navy and Marine personnel promises to be an interesting and challenging endeavor.

Long-winded explanations over, as part of my agreement to taking this position, you now have this information because I've either been missing for more than 24 hours, or I'm not coming back at all. All I want to say is: don't blame yourself for not keeping in touch. Even though we were both responsible for the lack of communication last time, this time the responsibility is all mine. It was a pleasure to see you once again, and an honor to have served with you.

HRjr

Sturgis sets the letter on the desk and rubs his temples. He feels even worse about how he treated Harm on the _Reprisal_. Knowing Harm as he has for such a long time, he should have known better than to think he'd deliberately disappear without a word. A knock at on the hatch to his quarters brings him out of his reverie, and makes him wonder just what crisis he needs to look into now.

* * *

"Stand up slowly, keeping your hands where I can see them," a decidedly Texas sounding voice instructs.

Gary does as requested and waits until the two men have determined he carries no weapons before initiating conversation. "Are you Americans?" he asks.

Standes—the man he collided with—blinks in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Your friend sounds like he hails from Texas."

"Guilty as charged," Paine quips. "Where are you from?"

"I don't think I've ever spent enough time in one place to call it home," Gary responds wryly. "Are you members of Rabb's team, and more importantly, are you looking for him?"

"How did you know that?" Standes repeats, dumfounded that this person they met in the middle of nowhere knows anything at all about their team.

"If you could get the rest of your team here, we don't have much time; Sadik is nearly finished clearing out his camp, and I don't know where they're headed." For the moment, Gary ignores the question; he'll tell them anything they want to know, but only after they get Harm away from Sadik and his goons.

Paine had called the rest of the team when the two men collided; they arrive to hear the end of Gary's sentence. "Where who are headed?" Duncan asks, making Gary jump.

"He says he knows where Captain Rabb is," Paine interjects before Gary can say anything.

"What are you waiting for, show us!" Duncan commands, a little more harshly than intended in his enthusiasm.

They reach the camp in time to see the last two vehicles depart. Paine and Jerry are dispatched to make a quick search of the camp while the rest of the team does their best to keep the transport in sight. Sharpe contacts the _Reprisal_, requesting assistance in tracking the vehicles once it becomes clear they are moving faster than the team can. The reply that comes back is disheartening; they don't have any surveillance aircraft in the air and it will at least 20 minutes for them to launch one and get it on station. Sharpe acknowledges, gives them their location and the types of vehicles they are searching for. Just before he signs off, Captain McKnight informs him that there is a team of Rangers in the area and no one can seem to raise them to bring them back in. "I don't know what General Danvers is trying to pull, but be careful around them, Captain Todd is his right-hand man," McKnight warns.

"We'll take care of it sir," Sharpe promises. He reports the conversation to Duncan, who only looks grim at the mention of Todd.

"I'll deal with Todd if we come across him and his men," Duncan assures him. They're both thinking of the run-in they had with the Ranger and his team a few months before. By this time they've reached the end of the dirt road, an asphalt highway stretches east and west. Faint tracks show the way the vehicles chose, and as the tracks indicate, they head west, towards the coast.

They've traveled about a mile, and Paine and Jerry have rejoined the team, when they hear the faint sound of gunfire from the distance. "I think we've located Todd," Sharpe mutters as they pick up their pace.

When they can clearly hear the gunfire and shouts of men, the team leaves the road for the cover along side. A scant couple of minutes later, the scene of the gun battle unfolds before them. The transport is in a ditch along the opposite side of the road, resting on the driver's side. Duncan realizes the Rangers must have shot out the tires—a difficult feat at best—causing the transport to flip before coming to rest in the current position. Several of Sadik's men escaped injury enough to return fire; they're deployed behind the vehicle. The Rangers seem to be indiscriminately firing; either they haven't been made aware of the possibility of a hostage being along, or they're not interested in seeing him rescued. Duncan quickly dispatches his team behind the Rangers with orders to first locate Todd, and then enforce the cease fire order he's about to give.

Kivers works his way around the Rangers, finally reemerging from the brush to catch sight of the jeep that was traveling with the transport. There are three men in the jeep, two of whom are trying to lay enough cover fire to keep the Rangers where they are. The identity of the third shocks Kivers; Jack is sitting in the front passenger seat, attempting to get a radio to work. Certain his teammate is in danger, Kivers sends a quick message to Duncan, breaks from cover and approaches the vehicle. His first shot wounds the driver, his second misses wildly; Jack has picked up his weapon and defended his men, unaware of who he is firing at. After the shot is off, he notes detachedly that his aim is true—Kivers is dead before he hits the ground. Realizing his former team is now on site, and any reinforcements Sadik may be able to send are too far away to do any good, he pulls the wounded driver into his seat and slides behind the wheel. He leaves the rest of his men to their fate, hoping that the Rangers have done enough damage to make sure no one makes it out of the transport alive.

"Cease fire," Duncan orders from his position behind the Rangers, to no effect. "There's a hostage in the transport, cease fire," he repeats. This time, his words bring about the desired outcome; when the echoes die away, it is eerily silent.

"What do you mean there's a hostage in there?" Todd demands, standing face to face with Duncan. "We weren't told there were any hostages."

Duncan ignores the question for a moment. "Do you have a medic?" he asks instead.

For a moment, Todd considers refusing to answer the question; then he takes a closer look at the officer standing in front of him. "Mitchell should be down that way," he responds, pointing toward the end of the line where Kivers was headed.

"I have a man down that way; will you send him out for a look?" Duncan requests. Regardless of the antipathy between the two teams, Todd immediately agrees to the request. "I'm going to take the rest of my team and head over to the transport, will you and your team provide back-up for us?" Todd nods in agreement.

Calling to his men, Duncan begins to walk away; Todd's voice causes him to turn back. "It's Commander Post, isn't it?" he comments softly. "No wonder we didn't know he was there." When Harm and his team bested Todd and his Rangers in the Special Forces competition held a few months before, words were exchanged between General Danvers and Harm. The General accused Team O of cheating, claiming no team could make it through the entire competition unscathed; the team he sponsored—Todd's team—had 'lost' two of its members during the week-long competition, while other teams had been completely 'wiped out.' Harm had simply told the man they were the best and walked away from the one star general and his top team leader. After the final debrief was conducted, Todd cornered Duncan, again loudly raising accusations of cheating. The whole thing degenerated into a giant free-for-all fistfight, which Harm had just managed to clear his team out of before the MPs arrived.

"Actually, it's Captain Rabb now. But that story can wait until we get him out of there. Sadik has had him for several days now and all we know is he was in bad shape before this," Duncan tells the man he once thought he'd like to call friend—maybe there's hope there after all. Before he can walk away this time, Mitchell reports his findings to Todd.

"Commander, I'm sorry," Todd reports. "Your man didn't make it."

Duncan takes just a moment to compose himself—he'd feared as much. "Thank you for sending your man to check," he says quietly, and walks away to join his team and report their first casualty.

* * *

AJ emerges from his office into the bullpen on his way to fill his coffee cup from the pot he started when he arrived 10 minutes before. He makes it halfway through the room before he realizes it's not deserted as he expected. The doors are open and lights are on in Mac's and Bud's offices, as well as his own outer office where he notices Jen is already sitting at her desk. Mac and Bud emerge from the break room, carrying full cups of coffee along with steaming blueberry muffins, each greeting him with a "good morning sir." Continuing on to his destination, he nearly runs over Harriet, who is also holding a muffin and a cup of coffee—his cup.

"Good morning sir," Harriet says cheerfully, despite the early hour. AJ thinks he sees some residual sadness under her cheerful exterior, but doesn't comment, instead turning his attention to the items in her hand. "We were wondering who made coffee this morning. I remembered seeing your SUV in the parking lot and thought I'd bring you a cup," she continues, unaware of his scrutiny.

AJ takes the proffered items from her, "thank you." He looks around the bullpen at those gathered just outside the door to Mac's office. Jen has abandoned her own desk for the moment and is earnestly explaining something to the two lawyers. "Is there a meeting I forgot about this morning?" he asks.

"Not that I'm aware of, sir. Bud and I didn't sleep well last night, Colonel MacKenzie said she could sleep either, and I haven't talked to Petty Officer Coates yet," Harriet reports.

AJ makes a split-second decision, glancing briefly at his watch before he speaks. "I want to see all four of you in my office in 2 minutes. Make sure everyone has their coffee and breakfast…in fact, bring the pot with you," he recommends, indicating the just finished second pot; he then turns on his heel and retreats to the safety of his office to compose himself for the information he's about to reveal.

Exactly two minutes later, Mac knocks on his door frame, leading the group when he waves them in. "Close the door please, Petty Officer," he instructs Coates, the last one in. They all take seats when directed, only to jump, startled when the phone rings. AJ has apparently been expecting the call; he hits the button for the speakerphone to allow them all to hear.

"Commander Turner here, sir," Sturgis' rich voice sounds over the speaker.

"Lieutenant Tiner here, sir," Tiner chimes in behind the more senior officer.

"Good, now that we're all gathered, I have some news I wanted to pass along to all of you. I was going to do this twice, but since Colonel MacKenzie, Lieutenant Roberts, Lieutenant Sims and Petty Officer Coates graced the office with their presence at this early hour, I thought I'd get it all done at once." He's hedging, almost afraid to share the information, still trying to buy time to do what he knows he should do—for these people.

"Are we getting some help, sir?" Tiner asks, bringing his attention back to the present before he can delve into unfounded speculation.

"I'm afraid not. No, what I wanted to tell all of you is the hostages were rescued from the Embassy in Lima last night. It seems one of them was a JAG officer—Lt. Commander Meg Austin. She reported to those on the _Reprisal_, and then to me personally, that Captain Rabb was also at the Embassy, although he was not rescued with the rest of the hostages." He pauses for a moment to allow his audience to process the information he's just dropped on them, continuing only when the gasps of surprise have quieted. "Meg's report is not good—Harm is suffering from a fever due to his injuries, he's been deprived of food, water and sleep for nearly two days and has endured several sessions of 'questioning' by Sadik Fahd. The most disturbing news she had was that Sadik has linked Harm to the actions he took in Paraguay when he and Colonel MacKenzie destroyed his cache of stingers." This time it takes several minutes for the uproar from the six listeners to quiet. "During the rescue," he continues over the murmur of voices, "one of his team members went missing; the rest of the team speculates that Jack took matters into his own hands when he discovered Sadik—and by extension Harm—was also in the embassy. Lt. Commander Duncan is planning on petitioning the SecNav to insert them into the region and begin planning an extraction. I've asked to be kept in the loop as much as possible."

This time, stunned silence greets the end of his announcement. The collective feelings of those gathered—whether in person in the office of their commanding officer, or by ship-to-shore call—is relief and worry. They are relieved that Harm has been located, but worried that he's undergone so much, even without the added complications of Sadik knowing his tie to the operation in Paraguay. "Does he know Harm is also Commander Post?" Bud asks.

"As far as Meg knows, no. There's no guarantee it will stay that way; Sadik has found a way into the Navy Personnel database, which is how he connected Harm with Paraguay. I can only hope they've purged any reference to Commander Post out of the database."

"I didn't find anything on the surface when I checked yesterday," Coates offers timidly. "I couldn't get the name to come up at all." Sighs of relief are heard at that revelation, although most keep the thought to themselves that a good hacker might be able to find information, even if it has been erased.

"Turner, Tiner, when I have anything concrete, I'll send word to you. The rest of you, dismissed," AJ directs, effectively ending the impromptu meeting. He punctuates his order by disconnecting the call and turning to the pile of files on his desk. Mac, Bud, Harriet and Jen hurry to leave him with his thoughts. Only when the door closes behind Jen does AJ allow his mask of control to slip, letting his frustration and anger show through.

* * *

The rest of the team takes the news of Kivers' death in stride; it's the suspicion that Jack was the cause that angers them.

They approach the transport warily; there hasn't been any movement since the order to cease fire, but Duncan isn't taking any chances. While he, Sharpe and Paine make a circuit around the overturned vehicle, Standes and Jerry venture inside.

Both inside and out, the bodies of Sadik's men lay unmoving. The transport's canvas cover is riddled with holes, a testament to the Rangers' determination to dissuade any resistance. Jerry pulls the material off, providing more light for Standes to continue his search.

In the corner of the truck, wedged in the small space under—now beside—the narrow bench attached to the side of the truck, is a crumpled form. Although he can't see the figure's face, Standes instinctively knows it's Harm. "I've found him," he reports over the radio. The entire team converges upon the transport, certain—but not really caring at that point—that all of Sadik's men are no threat. Todd's team soon breaks from their cover to join them, along with Gary who emerges from the trees where Duncan finally ordered him to stay put.

"We've called for a couple of helos," Todd reports as he skids to a stop beside Duncan. The rest of his team hangs back a bit, afraid of what they might have caused.

Duncan nods in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes from Standes or the form of his commander. "Is he alive?" he chokes out.

"I have a weak pulse," Standes responds after a short silence. "His breathing is shallow and labored. He must have bounced around the truck when it overturned and came to rest here. It saved his life."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Standes is referring to the pock-marked seat that shielded Harm from the hail of bullets initiated by Todd's team. As one, they sigh in relief.

"Um, excuse me. Sir?" a voice breaks into Gary's thoughts. He looks to see Jerry standing nervously by, wringing his hands.

"Yes?"

"Well, Chief Standes would like you to go over the captain's injuries…" the large man trails off uncertainly, then belatedly adds, "sir."

Gary smiles at the young giant, he misses the Navy, as much as he hated it at one point. "The name's Gary, Gary Hochausen," he introduces himself, loudly enough for the mixed group to hear, and threads his way to kneel beside the corpsman. "What would you like to know, Chief?"

"I need to know what all of his preexisting injuries were so I can avoid aggravating them if at all possible. The helos should be here soon and I want to get him out in the open." Gary cringes from the task asked of him—he doesn't want to relive any of that again. Then he looks at Standes, expectantly waiting for the information he has and steels himself for the recitation.

Gary blocks out the reactions of those gathered around, describing the shrapnel lodged in Harm's shoulder, the scrapes along his back, the bruising from the beating administered just before he escaped the embassy, and the consequences from the escape—the problems Harm faced with his knee and opposite shoulder. He relates the slowing reaction times he's noticed since the incident at the plane, the possible rise in body temperature from the fever and the increased periods of unconsciousness. The last thing he describes is what Sadik forced him to witness while Harm was unconsciousness—how Jack and Fasal used the pans someone had left at the fire for cooking to burn the flesh on the bottoms of his feet until the top layers peeled off with the removal of the pans; and then he recalls Harm being forced to walk, barefoot, a few hours later. There are cries of outrage at this, quelled only because the enemy is not at hand, but the mention of Jack's name has Duncan warning Gary he wants the whole story just as soon as they're out of the country.

Standes mulls over the information provided by Gary, while behind him, Todd's team constructs a make-shift stretcher with their shirts. By the time the stretcher is ready, Standes has decided he will chance moving Harm. He asks if someone can find something to use as a stretcher, and is pleasantly surprised when Todd delivers their contribution to him. Harm's teammates, not wanting to be outdone, remove their shirts as well, offering them to Standes to cover their commander. Gary relinquishes his position beside Standes to Jerry so the large man can assist in lifting Harm out of the small space he's been crammed into. They are as careful as they can possibly be, but it doesn't seem to make a difference—Harm's out for the count. Once he's placed on the stretcher, Standes notes the new bruising from the beating Harm endured before being tossed into the back of the transport like a bag of garbage—and an indication of deeper bruising, probably from being tossed around the truck when it overturned.

The helos can be heard approaching by the time Standes is done with his examination. "Where are you headed?" Todd asks, joining Duncan and Standes at Harm's side.

Duncan defers to Standes, secure in the knowledge that the younger man will not hesitate to speak up for what he believes is the best course of action. "I want to get him to the _Reprisal_, if it's at all possible. He needs more care than I can provide, maybe more than they can provide on the carrier, but at least they'll be able to give him immediate attention and prepare him for the flight to the states."

"How good are your pilots? Will they be able to land on a carrier?" Duncan asks.

"They're the best the Army can offer," Todd states confidently. "You take the first helo; I'll send Mitchell with you. My team and I will follow with…" he doesn't need to say Kivers' name, they all know who he's talking about.

When the helos land, Mitchell and Gary help carry Harm, leaving Standes free to navigate for them. Todd and his team carefully gather Kivers from where he lay, treating him with the respect given a fallen comrade. The two helos lift off, and after a slight argumentative disagreement, head to sea. Sharpe contacts the _Reprisal_ to warn them of their imminent arrival in a pair of Army helicopters and ask that suitable personnel are available to meet the helos. There are no grumblings or questions from McKnight…at least not yet.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: I apologize for the length of time that has passed since my last post. To those who have continued to express their interest in the story, I extend my thanks; you've kept me going when the writer's block and RL issues have threatened to bury the rest of the story. On that note, RL is going to be even more demanding in the weeks to come—inspections are being conducted as I post on the house we are hoping to close on at the end of the month. Which unfortunately means more of my writing time is going to be taken up by packing and cleaning…as well as the extended hours and stress of dealing with the loss of one of our managers at work during the time when everyone is taking their vacations. In other words, I still don't know how frequent my postings will be, but I have not—nor do I intend to—given up on getting the entire thing written and posted.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 34

Arriving back in his quarters following the call from AJ, Tiner surveys the files he has scattered across the room. Somewhere in one of these piles is the letter from Harm, and he's bound and determined to find and read it before he turns in for a few hours of much needed sleep. Beginning with the files on the bunk, he sifts through each file before deciding where to relocate it—since he's already going through the files, he's also determined to really organize the somewhat controlled chaos in the room.

It's nearly 45 minutes later when he finishes with the last file, a bit frustrated because he hasn't located the letter. He's about to give up and climb into his newly cleared bunk when he realizes he doesn't recall taking the envelope out of his briefcase. Sure enough, it's sitting on top of the papers still in his briefcase. Without any further hesitation, he settles in his bunk to read the letter.

May 12, 2004

Tiner,

I'm not sure if my decision to leave JAG to find Mac comes as a surprise to anyone. If anything, I would guess the fact that I didn't return was more of a shock than my actually leaving.

I was looking forward to seeing you graduate from OCS, complete Naval Justice School and return to JAG as a lawyer. It would have been a pleasure to help you find your footing in the courtroom. I remember hearing the story of how you helped Galindez fight his parking tickets; if that's any indication of the dedication you will attach to cases that are assigned to you, you will indeed make a fine lawyer.

I was hoping to return to JAG once I found Mac—it just didn't work out that way. Very shortly after I returned, I was approached with an offer I wasn't allowed to refuse. We—my team and I—have just finished our training and will begin our first mission tomorrow; if I admit to being a bit nervous, can we keep it between us?

The ultimate purpose of this letter is to inform my friends and family why I've been out of touch. The circumstances under which these letters are to be delivered are very specific—I must be missing for more than 24 hours, or have been killed, most likely in the line of duty. While the second is more likely, I can't help but hope the first is true and I will someday be able to explain things to everyone in person.

Until that day—and also beyond—I hope you will uphold the honor and respect for truth and justice I've seen in you. If there are any traits of mine I could pass along to anyone, those would be the ones I would choose—just be sure to keep them tempered by reason as I have been known not to.

It has been a pleasure to serve with you.

HRjr

Tiner rereads the letter before refolding it and placing it back in the envelope. As he contemplates the contents before drifting off to sleep, he believes that much as he might wish otherwise when writing this letter, Harm was certain there would come a day he'd never make it back.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Normal conversation is not possible above the noise of the helo. The group sits in relative silence until it is noticed Harm is thrashing about, trying to get free.

"You need to stay still, Captain," Standes says, close to his ear. "You're safe and on your way back to the _Reprisal_."

Harm's eyes open but don't focus on anything. He continues attempting to get free of the makeshift blanket around him until Jerry carefully but forcibly holds him down. Gary slides up close to his head to be heard above the noise of the helicopter. "Harm, it's not a dream. Your team is here; Sadik and Jack are gone," he reassures his one-time pupil. This time Harm does still, his gaze slowly finding and focusing on his former mentor, then moving on to the others in the helo. There is no confusion in his eyes when he notices the Ranger medic; rather a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he winces in pain.

"Can't be a dream," he rasps out, "don't dream about Rangers." That breaks the tension; Gary glances worriedly at Mitchell, but the medic doesn't take offense at the comment. Someone helps Harm take a drink of water to soothe his throat. A bit more coherent now that he's had some time to come more fully awake, Harm scans the faces around him again. "Where's Kivers?" he asks. "And did anyone find Jack?"

The only one who will meet his gaze besides Gary is Duncan. "Kivers is on the other helo with Todd and the rest of his team. He'd radioed he'd spotted Jack and was going after him…he didn't even have time to shut down his radio communication before…"

Harm doesn't need to hear the end of the sentence—he knows what Duncan would say. He briefly closes his eyes to hide the emotional pain overwhelming the physical. Because of Jack's defection, he just lost his first team member; and even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, he still feels responsible. Hard on the heels of that thought is the realization that there is no letter to write to the family—none of his team members have any family left—that thought just adds to his pain.

He must have made some sort of sound during his musings because Standes leans in closely, concerned. "Sir, are you ok? How are you feeling?"

"I feel worse than when I went ten rounds with Mic Brumby," Harm mutters to himself although it is loud enough for Standes to overhear. Confusion blossoms on the corpsman's face, but he doesn't ask as Harm continues more loudly, as he does intend for this comment to be heard, "I'm all right for now, Chief. There's nothing you can do at the moment."

As his team watches over him, Harm finally feels safe enough to let a little of his guard down, although he's still careful to not let it show. They lend their strength as the events of the past several days crash about their leader, undermining the few pathetic defenses he has left. The emotional and physical pain overwhelm him allowing one silent tear to slowly roll across his face—but this is a tear of relief, not of pain; the worst part of the nightmare is over. By unspoken agreement, all agree they didn't see the moment of weakness from their companion; privately each and every one of them wish he'd let it show more.

The trip to the carrier continues in relative silence. Standes and Mitchell quietly monitor Harm's condition, occasionally wiping the sweat from Harm's face. Under the light covering of his team's shirts, Harm shivers. Although he remains awake and aware of everything around him, he keeps his eyes closed in an attempt to retain what little control he has left. He's not ready to share the reality of the past few days with anyone else. Soon enough, he knows, he will have to relive those days again, maybe more than once as he will undoubtedly need to speak to more than once agency concerning the defection of one of his own and the reemergence of Sadik. A part of him wants to do it right away; the rest—and largest—part of him wants to bury the ordeal in the back of his mind forever.

In the second helo Todd and his team are virtually silent, each locked in his thoughts. Absently fingering a piece of fabric poking out from under his seat, Todd wonders what he's going to do next. He's fairly certain he and his team were not given all the information because someone somewhere wanted it that way. If it was just miscommunication somewhere, Todd is ready to forgive and forget, but if anyone, Danvers especially, had the information and withheld it because they wanted Harm taken out…well, Todd's not sure what he'll do about it, but he's certain he can never work for—much less trust—anyone who would even contemplate doing such a thing. Sure, he hated to lose the competition, but it was just a competition. He felt he could learn a lot from Harm and his team—if only Danvers had let him.

While their team leader wrestles with his thoughts, the rest of the team wonders about the consequences of altering their orders in the field. Both helo pilots have relayed the displeasure of those back in the command center awaiting the return of the team. The team is behind Todd 100%; whatever he decides, they'll go along with. Although they haven't yet had the opportunity to voice their support, they approve of his decisions regardless of what the outcome may mean to their careers. There are some things that simply must be done—ignoring the orders that would have caused the death of a respected colleague is one of them.

Todd lets loose an curse when his conscious mind catches up with what his fingers are feeling, jarring everyone back to the present. Before anyone can ask, he's pulled out the items, making clear without words the reason for his anger. Without being prompted, one of the junior members of the team radios Mitchell advising him of the find. Understandably, the passengers in the first helo are just as angry when they too find several blankets and even a field stretcher hidden carefully in the helo. Harm is transferred to the stretcher as gently as possible and covered with several blankets for the rest of the trip. Todd adds the blatant lies of the helo pilots to his list of things that are just **wrong** with this mission.

With pointers from some of the helo pilots on board the _Reprisal_ fresh in their minds the two Army pilots are ready to make the attempt at landing on the carrier. An extra large area is cleared for the carrier novices and the crowd of off-duty personnel that gathers is kept well back from the area. The two live up to the earlier endorsement from Todd—the first overshoots the optimum landing area by just a bit, but his on-the-spot advice to his fellow pilot allows him to nail the landing. Much backslapping goes on in the two cockpits while _Reprisal_ personnel surge toward the two helos once they are both safely shut down.

Harm is the first out of the helo, handed down carefully to waiting arms. He tries not to show how much the jostling hurts but can't quite keep the grimace off his face. His eyes snap open for just a brief moment—long enough to recognize McKnight standing by his side—and only until he realizes the journey will be better if he can't see the strange way things are moving. "Permission to come aboard?" he asks weakly.

Startled by the question from a man who little resembles the strong, confident aviator who left his deck a few days before it takes McKnight a minute to process the question. "Permission granted," he calls after the men carrying the stretcher to sickbay, too far to see the tiny smile briefly flit across Harm's face.

The journey to sickbay seems to take forever; with the corridors cleared of personnel it is actually one of the fastest in the history of the ship. Harm keeps his eyes tightly closed until he feels himself being hoisted as gently as possible onto an exam table; only then does he carefully peel first one then the other eye open to take a look around. Preparing an IV for their newest patient, the nurse, a young fiery redhead with piercing green eyes, absently glances up at his face and nearly sticks herself when she notices his eyes are open. "Doctor," she calls loudly but calmly over the din in the room, trying to catch the attention of the man issuing orders to a group of personnel in the corner. When he looks up she adds, "He's awake."

The doctor, a tall, fit man with a slightly crooked nose, startling blue eyes and graying hair steps into Harm's immediate line of vision. He keeps his surprise well hidden at actually seeing Harm conscious—with just the number of injuries he has catalogued at first glance, he'd bet good money most men would have already escaped the accompanying pain. His voice betraying none of his thoughts, he introduces himself, "Captain, I'm Dr. Silver. Can you tell me what happened to you?"

"No," Harm whispers, not yet ready to relive the past several days. Now that he's safely on board, he's ready to give in to the beckoning relief of unconsciousness. The last thing he hears as he surrenders to the darkness is Silver ordering a crewmember to find his team and get them to sickbay ASAP.


	35. Chapter 35

AN1: My heartfelt apologies for taking so long—RL dumped on me, drowning all my writing time under tons of busywork. However, I am now 99 moved/30 unpacked, my grandmother's sale is over and my mom is back in AZ where she can't make me work until 2am, so it's been back to the computer to write (besides, I can't do much more unpacking until the furniture I ordered arrives on Tuesday).

AN2: There are several people who have written me emails and left messages for me on the FF board. THANK YOU! You know who you are, and I just wanted to let you know your queries are welcomed and appreciated. I'm sorry I've not had the time to send an individual email to each of you who emailed me as I usually try to do—I've had emails backed up for almost two weeks. So, I wasn't ignoring you, I simply had no time to thank you individually. Thanks.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 35

Mac gives up on the pretense of working; seeing as how it's after hours she doesn't feel too guilty about ignoring the piles of files on her desk to indulge her personal curiosity. In the days since she's received the journal Mac has read through Harm's accounts of his training with his team. Some of the entries have made her laugh, a few have nearly brought her to tears, but all have given insight into his state of mind immediately after Paraguay.

The first entries show a clear reluctance to completely accept the new role he's been thrust into; as it becomes clear just how proficient he already is his spirits lift, particularly as he consistently performs just as well, if not better, than the rest of his team, surprising them, their trainers and more importantly, Sheffield. The entry she finished reading the night before ended with their 'graduation' from training with the knowledge that they would immediately be going on their first mission. She flips the page to the next entry and begins to read.

May 15, 2004

What a rush! Never thought I'd ever say that about anything but flying in a Tomcat, but there just isn't any other way to describe this feeling. I must admit a large part of that feeling is because everything actually went the way it was supposed to—we didn't have to improvise because the half-baked plan failed as so many of our past missions with Webb went. We accomplished what we set out to do and did it without a scratch.

The only uneasiness I felt during the entire mission was actually during the debrief after we returned. Sheffield was distracted, as though there was something else on his mind, but when I asked about it, he denied anything was wrong. As the last to leave the room, I could have sworn he'd lost it when I heard him ask the empty room, "Well what do you think now?" If I hadn't heard the whisper of a reply in a much deeper voice I probably would have gone back in to investigate. As it was my curiosity was piqued, but I couldn't very well sit with my ear pressed to the door to catch the conversation.

I didn't find the opportunity to ask Sheffield about the conversation either; we were 'invited' to meet the next team finished with training earlier today. Although they had started nearly four months before we did, they—and the other three teams still training—did not have the motivation I gave my team to complete the training as quickly, although they did all beat Sheffield's original time table. Apparently all the other teams had already met prior to training; in fact, as I found out a little later, even my team members had attended that first meeting—the only one missing from the now formed teams was me. It's rather strange that these men already knew of me, not by name, but by the knowledge that there was to be another team leader—they were told I was waiting for my orders to be cut. As this was while I was sitting on the bench during the friendly fire incident, I am puzzled at how they may have reached this conclusion. The teams started training in a staggered schedule, the team that just finished—Team A or 1 lead by Major Brian Anders—was the first to begin. The staggered schedule was to allow each team to complete the training in the same order, although not always with the same instructors, as was most evident in our case. We somehow managed to sneak by each of the other teams while they were enjoying their time off, although every so often two of the teams training sessions would overlap despite the staggered start, they all completed their training in the same order they began.

It is the notion that everyone—my own team included—was under the impression that I would be joining them several weeks sooner than I had that confuses me most. From the things I've overheard or been told, I was always Sheffield's original choice for the position; but since the estimated date for my arrival was during the time I was sitting in the brig convinced I would be convicted of a murder I could never commit, I am uncertain how that could be true. I suppose this is another thing I should try to talk to Sheffield about.

xxx

The next few entries are extremely vague accounts of the various early missions he and his team were assigned, interspersed with laments that he can't shake both of his seemingly self-appointed shadows during their downtime. The enthusiasm following his time filling in as an aviator during their downtimes is a bright beacon of happiness in the midst of his worries that he might do something to get one of his team injured or killed. This worry only intensifies as time passes and they have a few close calls, but it isn't until mid September and the end of training of the final team that he very nearly goes into full-blown panic mode.

September 16, 2004

It was supposed to be a routine mission. I practically begged Sheffield to let my team take it, but he refused sighting the fact that almost every member of my team—the only exceptions being Jerry and myself—was sick with the flu someone brought back from liberty. Major Ortez only had a single team member who had been ill (I'm sure he was the one who brought it back) and who was recovered sufficiently to accompany his team on this mission. I did remind Sheffield that Team 3 had just returned from a particularly grueling mission—not all of it caused by the temporary loss of one of their team members—and needed their downtime (as he's always telling me). It's not the first time he's ignored a recommendation since he informed me that as the senior officer I was essentially the commanding officer of the teams—who has to report to him, of course—but he and I will always wonder if the results would have been the same if he'd followed my recommendation.

Ortez finally called in two hours after his scheduled pick-up. He had run into resistance where none was expected and had three wounded—one seriously—and one fatality. This time Sheffield didn't resist when I informed him my team was going in after them—I think he was still attempting to figure out exactly where he went wrong. The conditions had deteriorated even further in the short time it took us to get to the extraction point. With our arrival we tipped the odds in our favor and managed to extract the team without losing anyone else. They ended up with the one fatality, one man in critical condition and two men (one of whom was Ortez) in serious condition. The remainder of the team was lucky in a way; none of them have serious injuries, although none of them will be in the field for some time.

To my surprise, Sheffield was not as annoyed with me as I expected him to be when I made the decision to take them directly to the hospital rather than returning immediately to base. Even more surprising was his appearance at our base and lack of censure when I didn't return there until the next day—he was rather subdued, only approaching me to ask about the condition of those we left in the hospital and to request my presence at the debriefing. I was startled when he asked if I would compose a letter to the family of the man killed; I had no idea my team was unique, that the members of the other teams had friends and family who were worried about them. Once I got past my momentary shock I agreed—I understood all of the reasons why he couldn't or didn't want to write that letter. Following the debriefing he informed me he would be leaving me in charge of the day-to-day operations of the teams and someone else would be contacting me regarding any upcoming missions. I have to admit, I was a bit startled at this complete about face—from the first day, he'd been involved in some way, keeping tabs on the progress of training from DC, contacting each team leader personally regarding upcoming missions—although he did ask for my opinion on several occasions, as I earlier stated, he didn't always follow my recommendations—and generally making his previous profession of my role as commanding officer null and void. It was so sudden and so contrary to his previous behavior I almost expected there was someone behind the scenes whispering advice in his ear—possibly even advice he'd ignored until now.

September 18, 2004

Sheffield called from Washington to give me an update on the members of Team 3; Ortez, 1st Lt. Dover and Private Manning have all pulled through the worst and are all expected to recover, although it's not certain they'll wish to return to duty. The thought that they might not wish to return has me worried—just what did they face out there that was so terrible? Petty Officer Daniels has already submitted his resignation to me, and the rest of the members who have returned to base are withdrawn and subdued. I've tried everything I can think of to get them to talk to someone short of making it an order. I can't believe we may lose most—if not all—of a team to what was supposed to be a routine mission.

I never once thought this would be an easy assignment; I would be disappointed if it was. But I never thought some aspects of it could get this exasperating. Lt. Commander Tussey is really going to try my patience—I wonder if this is how Admiral Chegwidden used to feel when I would do something…unadvisable. The thing is, Tussey and his team have just completed their training and he's already questioning my authority.

At a request from Sheffield, I called all of the teams together for a meeting yesterday. While I should have known the absence of Team 3 would be commented on, I didn't realize Tussey would use the failure of that mission to begin an attack on my command authority. Protests from the other teams that the decision wasn't made by me didn't derail his anger. It seems he and Ortez became fast friends at the first get-together and because I was missing then and in charge now he's decided any bad command decisions are my fault—the man just won't listen to reason. He's stopped short of outright disrespect, but when I approached him to speak privately he didn't hesitate to tell me just what he thought of the situation.

Tussey must have corralled some of the others after the meeting because a few hours later Tussey, Anders and Hoffer stood outside the door to my quarters. Anders and Hoffer looked nervous and a bit sheepish while Tussey sported a look of complete confidence. I spied Jack and Jerry in their customary places, down the hallway just far enough to give us some privacy, but close enough and alert enough to be here in a moment should they or I deem it's necessary—why can't I seem to get a moment without one or the both of them watching over me? Mindful of the audience potential, I thought this conversation would be best conducted inside—I invited the three team leaders in, not in a million years thinking the study materials scattered through my quarters could be used to strengthen Tussey's arguments.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" I asked warily, rather afraid I was about to be blindsided by Anders and Hoffer; that although they'd previously supported me, they too resented my 'new' role. Fortunately I was wrong.

"You really don't want to do this, Aaron," Hoffer cautioned a determined looking Tussey. His tone indicated he'd been saying the same thing for quite some time now.

"Permission to speak freely?" Tussey growled, ignoring the finer points of protocol—and the pleading looks of the other two.

I studied the man carefully, drawing on remembered conversations and confrontations with Chegwidden to formulate my reply. While technically I could deny the request, by the looks of things with very good reason, I decided I wanted to eliminate this problem before it escalated. For some reason the man took an instant dislike to me and had no problem showing it. If I wished to keep the tentative control Sheffield seemed to have on this group—and hopefully strengthen it—I needed to see if this guy was going to be a help or a hindrance. "Permission granted."

"I don't believe you are capable of doing this job and I'm going to prove it," Tussey stated arrogantly. Anders and Hoffer both looked like they wanted to sink into the floor, confirming my belief they weren't involved in whatever it is Tussey was cooking up. Good—that meant I could concentrate on getting to the bottom of Tussey's attitude problem.

"Why is that?" I asked mildly.

"You've already lost an entire team—obviously you are at least somewhat aware of the problem (here he indicated the aircraft manuals I had laying open on my desk) but no amount of reading is going to make you a better leader; or get you what you really need—experience in the field."

I was stunned to say the least. Here was Tussey, not only disrespecting a senior officer in front of witnesses—basing his comments on his misconception of the facts—and also having the nerve to do so after he personally caused his team to undergo several weeks of extra training. I knew Sheffield had to have had a good reason for making this guy one of his team leaders, I'm not at all sure I'd like to know what that reason was.

By this point, Anders and Hoffer were wishing they'd never even spoken to Tussey after the meeting. They attempted to inch toward the door, only to stop when I let them know that wasn't a good idea at this point. Heck, I just wanted witnesses I didn't take Tussey's head off. "And just what do you think it is that I need?" I was still calm, something Anders and Hoffer knew from experience was not a good thing in a situation like this—they knew I was going for the kill, it's just too bad Tussey was completely clueless.

"You need more training. I asked Majors Anders and Hoffer to come with me because I'd like them to set up a training course. I'll run it against you and then we can work on your weaknesses—that'll help with the field experience. As for the other…well I think we should just contact Secretary Sheffield and have another CO assigned to the unit."

"Why don't we let that wait until after we go through this training course of yours?" I surprised myself by saying. I had intended to call him on the carpet for his unprofessional behavior, not agree to his plan.

"Oh sure. Then we'll know if he'll have to replace you as head of Team 4, too," he announced smugly.

"You do understand that if I make it through this course of yours before you do that I'll have to find a replacement for you," I warned.

"Won't happen," he stated confidently. "When can you guys be ready?" he asked of Anders and Hoffer as if he was the one in charge.

The two Marines looked to me for help, too shocked to be able to formulate a reply to the upstart who obviously thought he'd be the one to take my job. "Do you think that with the help of your teams you can get it ready by 0500?" They exchanged a glance, shrugged and answered in the affirmative, waiting for my dismissal before finally making good on their escape. For Tussey I called my watchdogs and asked for one of them to make sure he went straight to his quarters and didn't leave until 0500—I wasn't going to chance him scurrying out to see what the preparations were and give himself an advantage; I was determined to prove to him—and myself—that I was the right man for this job.

September 19, 2004

I can't believe he did that! Sheffield actually put Tussey up to challenging me! It turns out Sheffield detoured to see Tussey on his way back to Washington. He wanted to personally inform Tussey of the 'change of command' as he'd already spoken to each of the other team leaders individually. For a point of reference, he pointed me out in a team picture—even though I'd made some changes in my appearance, Tussey immediately recognized me as the prosecuting attorney in a case against a friend of his. Tussey hadn't been called as a witness but he'd been there for the whole trial; he'd resented me for a time, until he realized that he'd been blind to his friend's wrongdoing.

Sheffield asked Tussey if he'd have a problem working with me and keeping my identity secret. The second was understood as an order with serious consequences; the first was a question Sheffield was genuinely interested in. If Tussey couldn't accept my command because he was still resentful or angry with me for his friend's incarceration, Sheffield would understand and find somewhere to reassign him. Tussey raised the same issues then than he did with me—although more diplomatically than he had when he was speaking to me—giving Sheffield the idea to allow him to test me. He thought it would quiet any concerns any of those who would be serving under me might have—we had to trust each other with our lives, and if anyone doubted me even a little it could make the difference between life and death in the field.

Tussey was more of a challenge than I was expecting; Sheffield set me up there too. He was the one who told me it was Tussey who put his team behind in training, not the private who made a small mistake that escalated out of control. I did, however, pass the 'test' with flying colors, proving to the satisfaction of everyone there that I knew what I was doing—except possibly myself as a call with several new missions deflated my anger and elation at being challenged.

Tussey's 'punishment' for raising the challenge was getting the leave his team was entitled to following each mission—or in this case, following completion of training. That left Teams 1, 2 and 4 available for the three missions I'd just been handed. Before, when I was just advising Sheffield on the best course of action, this seemed so easy. Now that it was my decision to make, it became much more terrifying. Now I was responsible for making sure things like the fiasco with Team 3 didn't happen again. The doubts hit me full force—could I handle it? Could I survive making the wrong decision? As best as I could I put the fears behind me and read each of the files, giving in to my instincts when it came time to make the choice of who to send where.

xxx

A tap on Mac's door brings her out of Harm's journal. AJ stands in the doorway, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "They've found him. He's on the _Reprisal_. As soon as he can be safely transported, he'll be sent to Bethesda." Mac smiles her thanks, words not needed—this news will bring relief and comfort to a lot of people.


	36. Chapter 36

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 36

Silver is finishing up the bandaging of Harm's injuries when his intended ride lands on deck; he's just finishing making sure Harm is secure and ready for transport when a petty officer nervously pokes his head into sickbay to get an estimate on how much longer he needs for McKnight and the pilots. To say he's surprised Harm is ready to be transported would be an understatement; he was one of the few who actually saw him when he first arrived.

Jerry grabs the front end of the stretcher, silently daring anyone who disagrees with his actions to challenge his right to be there—no one does. Silver commandeers Standes to go over the instructions he's already imparted to the young corpsman. The rest of the team—Duncan, Sharpe and Paine—grab the bags they've each taken a few minutes out of waiting to pack or pick up.

Within a few minutes they're topside, staring at the out of place aircraft sitting on the carrier's deck. "The pilot requested the assignment," McKnight reveals, approaching the stunned team from behind. "Rabb will be transported on the Osprey along with your corpsman and the medic from the Ranger team. The rest of you will follow on the Sea Knight that's currently being refueled."

"Why not send us all on the Osprey, sir?" Duncan questions.

"Because someone wants Rabb in Washington as quickly and directly as possible. The best way to ensure that is to have the least amount of cargo—or in this case personnel—on board. And before you ask, Major Asher asked for the assignment because Rabb defended him and his aircraft when there was an incident involving some members of Congress."

"Given what we've seen and heard over the past several days, it's surprising to me that this appears to be the first time we've run into anyone that knew him previously," Duncan comments, watching Jerry rejoin them from getting Harm settled in the Osprey.

"Sir, they're just about ready to leave, Major Asher just wants to speak to Captain McKnight before they leave," Jerry reports, clearly unhappy they're not accompanying Harm on the Osprey.

McKnight excuses himself and heads over to see what Asher wants. Duncan watches as an intense conversation follows between McKnight, Asher and Silver. Standes and Mitchell, the Ranger medic, are inside the Osprey, presumably making sure Harm's secure for the flight. Whatever the conversation is about, it's clear Silver is pleased with the results; he motions to a figure waiting a short distance away who stops only briefly at the trio before he boards the Osprey. Asher salutes McKnight and boards directly behind him. Even before McKnight returns to where Duncan and the rest of the team are waiting, the Osprey's engines are started in preparation for their departure.

"Who was that, sir?" Duncan asks as they watch the departing Osprey.

"As you know, Dr. Silver had Gary Hochausen's account of the events transcribed into a written document which he's sending with Captain Rabb. In addition, he's currently waiting on a ship to shore call with Bethesda, to fill them in on what he can. Despite these actions, he thought it would be best if the person who knows the most about Rabb's condition accompanies him on the trip to Washington. Major Asher agreed that the additional weight would be within acceptable limits for the distance they're intending to travel and I agreed to send him along."

"Understandable," Duncan replies, to the surprise of the rest of the team before they, too, recognize the wisdom of sending Gary rather than one of them. It's much better to have Gary where he can answer any questions that might come up—and the team is convinced the CIA pilot will do his best to look out for his former student.

Less than 10 minutes after the departure of the Osprey, Duncan, Sharpe, Paine and Jerry stow their team's gear aboard the Sea Knight and climb aboard with the remainder of the Ranger team. Duncan spent those 10 minutes asking Todd what his plans for their arrival in Washington would be. Todd admitted he hadn't really thought that far ahead—it was just hitting the team what doing the right thing might cost them. Duncan assured Todd and the rest of the team that he would make mention of the incident to the SecNav and possibly—since he's pretty sure someone from JAG will show up at the hospital at some point—someone from the Navy's Judge Advocate General Headquarters. It's with that thought in their minds that they watch as the casket bearing the body of Gunnery Sergeant Walter Kivers is respectfully loaded onto the helo. A moment later, they're airborne, the carrier fading quickly from view.

xxxx

An older couple enters the bullpen, marveling at the barely controlled chaos in the large room. Several officers and enlisted personnel pass by with nothing more than a brief glance at the visitor's badges hanging haphazardly in contrast to their immaculate appearance, before they spot someone vaguely familiar approaching.

Harriet, her mind on a multitude of tasks needing her attention, glances briefly at the pair of civilians standing uncertainly just inside the doors to the bullpen. Much like her fellow coworkers, her eyes scan and lock onto the badges that announce their authorized presence as visitors—were these badges missing, decisive actions would be taken against the intruders. For some unknown reason, Harriet pauses in her duties a moment to look at the faces more closely, stopping in her tracks as recognition sets in. A nervous smile replaces the look of utmost concentration on her face as she greets the pair. "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, welcome back to JAG. It's good to see you again."

"Thank you, Lieutenant…" Trish replies softly, trying unsuccessfully to recall the name of the young officer in front of her.

"Harriet Sims, ma'am," Harriet supplies. "Admiral Chegwidden is at the Pentagon—the SecNav called him in for a meeting first thing this morning. The admiral asked me to let you know you were welcome to wait here or leave a number where you can be reached for when he returns."

"If you don't think we'll be in the way, we'll just wait here," Trish decides anxiously. Aside from a few cryptic 'I'm fine' calls from Harm, she's had less contact with him over that last three years than she did when he was deployed for a carrier for six months at a time; she wants to hear that her son is indeed fine, but fears this time is the time things won't go as hoped.

"Ma'am, sir, I need to get these files to one of the attorneys, but I'll be right back. Then we'll get you something to drink and find you a place to wait." True to her word, Harriet is back in less than a minute. She leads them to the break room, gets both of them a cup of coffee, but hesitates when she tries to come up with someplace for them to wait. This is in a way much more awkward than the last time this couple was here—then everyone was relieved to know Harm was okay. This time they have yet to receive word from anyone whether or not he's even been found—AJ and Mac were the last to leave the night before and apparently were here and gone to their meeting before anyone else arrived—it has to be something like finding your husband is MIA, Harriet muses, only this time it's Trish's son and if it weren't for the man standing stoically by her side, Harriet's not certain the woman would be this calm. She knows she wasn't at all calm when her own husband was injured several years before, she can't imagine having lost him and then losing her son.

Trish allows her gaze to roam around the bullpen, unable to keep from hoping that her son's tall form will come striding around the corner, teasing her for her worry. Instead, she notices the differences in the darkened large corner office he always occupied, also spying the name above the door. "Where's Commander Turner?" she asks impulsively.

Startled out of her own musings, Harriet answers absently, "On a carrier conducting investigations." Then it hits her; Sturgis wasn't stationed at HQ the last time she can remember seeing Harm's mother. "How do you know Commander Turner, ma'am?" she asks politely.

"He went to the academy with Harm. We saw him several times when visiting; with such a distinctive name, I thought it must be the same man." This time it's Trish's thoughts that are causing her mind to wander from the conversation. She spies the next nameplate. "What about Colonel MacKenzie?"

"She went with the admiral, ma'am."

"Lt. Roberts? He's your husband, isn't he?"

"Yes ma'am. Bud's around here somewhere, probably in the library. Do you want me to find him?" Harriet's unsure where Trish is going with her questions, but is currently content to answer them.

"No, that's not necessary. I was just wondering where everyone is; it's pretty deserted in here." Her eyes catch on the next nameplate, causing a small frown to cross her face as she attempts to place the name. "J. Tiner? That name sounds familiar."

"He was the admiral's yeoman the last time you were here. He passed the bar a few years ago and went through OCS before returning here as a lawyer. We actually have 3 junior attorneys right now. Tiner is investigating with Commander Turner, the other two are in offices down the hall; they're not ready to be sent on investigations yet," Harriet confides.

"And there was another Marine here, a young man."

"Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez. He left about five years ago, wanted to rejoin a fighting unit."

"Who's that over there?" Trish asks, pointing at Jen who is immersed at a task at her desk.

"That's Petty Officer Coates. She replaced Tiner as Admiral Chegwidden's yeoman when he went to OCS. C'mon, I'll introduce you." Harriet hurries over, leaving Trish and Frank no choice but to follow.

"Jen," Harriet ventures, approaching the studious young woman's desk.

Jen is on her feet a second later, "Ma'am." She's not sure who the people are with Harriet, but she always believes showing respect can't get her in trouble.

"Jen, this is Trish and Frank Burnett, Captain Rabb's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Petty Officer Jennifer Coates."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am, sir," Jen offers quickly. "I have nothing but respect for your son."

"Thank you. How do you know Harm?"

"He defended me several years ago at Christmas. I posed as a Santa Claus taking donations with the intent of keeping the money for myself. Because the brig was closed for the holiday he took me to Colonel MacKenzie's for the night—to discourage any appearance of impropriety—but would pick me up again in the morning. He didn't let me fool him but he showed me kindness when others just wanted to put me away for my crimes. He also changed my mind about wanting to leave the Navy. I owe him my life."

Trish smiles a watery smile; she's lost count of the number of people who have told her how Harm's bettered their lives. Some days though, she wishes he weren't so dedicated to the service that not only took away his father and grandfather but also frequently threatens his own life. To be fair, she knows it's her son's sense of honor and right and wrong that has caused some of his close calls in the past, but she's not of a mind to be fair right now. She's tired of pretending—to herself, Frank and others—that the risks Harm takes don't bother her. She's tired of constantly wondering if today is the day she'll receive notification her only child has been killed in the service of his country. And then the thought hits her that maybe she's already gotten that call and she'll never see her son again.

Observing quietly beside his wife, Frank knows what thoughts are running through her mind as her features melt into anguish. Every time she worries he's there to assure her that her son will come home safely. His confidence didn't waver when they received the call that Harm was missing at sea, but this time he's having a hard time convincing himself everything is going to be ok. Despite the fact that he never had the kind of relationship he tried for with Harm, for a couple of years before he basically disappeared Harm had been making more of an attempt at having a father-son relationship than he ever had before. In the past three years though, neither he nor Trish have had much time to talk to him, the calls few and far between—and painfully short. Frank allows his thoughts to drift back to the previous morning when a lieutenant from the JAG office in San Diego appeared on their doorstep.

xxxx

Since the notification of Harm's disappearance both Trish and Frank were on edge; the arrival of a government vehicle in their driveway at 0800 had them believing the worst. They were more confused than anything when the single occupant of the car turned out to be a JAG lieutenant who didn't have any idea the level of panic he was causing. Only when Trish actually accepted the letter from him and tore it open did her frantic questions get answered; inside the manila envelope was the letter from Harm and a note from Mac. Trish quickly thanked the confused young man and practically shut the door in his face.

Mr. and Mrs. Burnett

The enclosed letter was included with a package of letters Harm wrote with instructions that they were to be distributed should he be missing for more than 24 hours. As Harm has not worked at this office for the past three years, I don't know what kind of contact you may have had with him, but I urge you to read it. Another letter, addressed to his grandmother in Pennsylvania has also been sent. I've not had the pleasure of meeting her, and am uncertain how she may take the news—again I don't know if Harm has kept in contact with her. Her letter is set to be delivered the day after yours is; should you believe it is not in her best interest to have it at this time, please let me know and we'll hold on to it. If you are unhappy with your son, believe me when I say you should still read the letter. I have been unhappy because there was no word from Harm in three years—now I know the reason and all I have left are regrets that for the short time I saw him before he disappeared I was not a good friend. I can only hope I'll have the opportunity to tell him how sorry I am.

Sarah MacKenzie

And scrawled in another hand at the bottom of the piece of paper:

Harm is nominally under my command for an unspecified amount of time. Feel free to call if you need anything.

AJ Chegwidden

Trish sat for over an hour with Harm's letter crumpled in her hand, hurt and anger vying for most favored status. She looked so alone and sad, Frank finally convinced himself it would be better if he interfered. He persuaded his wife they'd both be better off reading the letter than destroying it, as she was subconsciously beginning to do. Relieved the decision as made for her, Trish smoothed out the crumpled envelope and carefully slit it open.

May 12, 2004

Mom, Frank:

First of all, I want to say I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd never find out about my being arrested and charged with Singer's murder, but since this entire fiasco seemed to have started there, I have no choice but to mention it. It's hard to fathom I was that close to being sent to prison for a crime I would never commit, based on circumstantial evidence. For more than eight years I believed in the system I worked to uphold, now my beliefs are a little shaky and I can honestly say I'm almost relieved not to have to place my trust and my client's future in that system anytime soon.

I know we've only had a few, short conversations in the past year and I've been deliberately vague about where I've been and what I've been doing; it's because I'm basically working undercover. To understand why, I have to go back to the day after I was released from the brig…

…That first day back was awkward. All of my open cases had been handled by my coworkers, only a bit of paperwork was left for me from before my incarceration—and that I had to dig out of the boxes of personal and work related items NCIS had finally returned. I should have taken a day or two for myself, but I thought I would be better off getting right back into the midst of things. Finding my office completely packed up as evidence was more than a bit disconcerting, and that seemed to set off the tone for the rest of the day.

I didn't bother unpacking my personal items; I simply dug through the boxes until I had enough to occupy myself for the day. What I wanted more than anything was to engage in conversation with one of my friends, but suddenly none of my friends knew how to act around me—several had been called as witnesses against me, none of them were permitted to contact me while I was in the brig. I was never so happy to leave the office and head home as I was that night, making only a quick stop at the grocery store to replace the science experiments growing in my refrigerator. Following a light dinner, I finally sat down to relax…what followed set off a chain of events that led me to where I am now.

I hadn't seen Mac all day; she was out of the office, it turns out prepping for a dangerous CIA mission. I was already off balance and her short visit—ostensibly to let me know she was leaving in a few hours and ask how I was doing—knocked me even further for a loop. There were so many things I wanted to say to her; the only thing that would come out is 'don't go.' I don't know if she found it an affront to her Marine persona or what, but she didn't even hesitate. She left for Paraguay that evening; that night I began to have nightmares.

With Mac gone, I didn't have the time to worry about unpacking my personal belongings—I was worried about her and I had her cases to attempt to keep my mind off of the nightmares. I tried everything I could think of to get information out of the CIA; finally I was able to get in touch with someone who would only agree to keeping the admiral in the loop. It was something, at least, but the nightmares only grew more intense. Then the admiral informed me that Mac and Clay missed their last couple of check-ins.

I know how the CIA works, you screw up, you're on your own—they were just going to leave them there. I asked the admiral to give me an assignment in the area, he refused; I asked him for leave, he refused that too. I couldn't let Mac die down there; I did the only thing I could think of—I resigned.

As most of what happened is classified, I will only say I found them with the help of a Gunnery Sergeant who used to work at JAG. Clay was in bad shape; Gunny took him to get help while Mac and I went after the terrorist. We accomplished our objective, but it took us two days to return to where we were to meet Gunny and Clay. We returned to the States, underwent extensive debriefing at the CIA and were finally released. It was midnight when I finally returned home, but a message from the admiral stated he wanted to hear from me as soon as I returned. It turns out he hadn't processed my resignation, only held it in case I got into trouble and the Navy had to disavow any knowledge of what I was doing down there. He told me that if I was interested in remaining in the Navy and at JAG, I should report to his office at 0800 Monday. Relieved, I barely had time to hang up the phone before I passed out from exhaustion.

Now, I know you're wondering that if he offered me my job back, why did I call you the next day and tell you I was no longer at JAG, right? Well, what happened a few hours later changed all my plans. I really hadn't been asleep long, and apart from a few hours rest when we finally rejoined Gunny and Clay, I'd had almost no sleep for days. It took me a while to realize the pounding noise I was hearing wasn't part of my dream, it was the Secretary of the Navy at my door. Somehow he'd found out about my resignation and for some reason he wanted me to work for him—he threatened to process the resignation unless I left JAG to work on a special project he had in the works. (Let me just mention that I went to Paraguay because I couldn't stand the thought of being without Mac in my life; it was too late though, she was much closer to Clay than she and I had ever been.) With nothing to keep me where I was—and possibly due in no small part to my overwhelming exhaustion—I agreed. A few hours later, my apartment was devoid of personal belongings and I was on my way to my new position—or rather training for it.

It's been almost a year since that day and my team and I have just finished our training. It has been a very full year. Training was originally supposed to take nearly two years, but circumstances—and a bit of pushing on my part—brought our training to a close a year ahead of schedule. Tomorrow we begin our first mission; I have been looking forward to this day with both anticipation and trepidation. I want to do a good job, and believe my training has covered everything, but I also know how things can go wrong without warning and I'm afraid of making a mistake that could get someone hurt. I also can't help but wonder; I've had two fairly successful careers in the Navy already, can I do it again?

These are the fears your son wrestles with on the night before the start of his third career. In a Tomcat, I was responsible for the lives and actions of those flying with me; at JAG I generally was more responsible for protecting—or taking away—the careers of others; now, out in the field at least, I am completely responsible for myself and the seven men under my command. Every decision to be made must ultimately come from me—the night before the first mission isn't the best time to be second-guessing myself, but will I actually do as well in real life situations as they've told me I've done in training? Why am I so nervous? I've done things like this before with less beforehand knowledge than I expect to have on the majority of these missions, so why am I so worried? Because when all is said and done, I will have to answer for the results of the mission and should I screw up, someone will pick apart my actions much like I've done many times in my time at JAG. Maybe what frightens me the most is the possibility of my former co-workers finding and pointing out my shortcomings.

The one thing I have neglected to mention is that no one at JAG knows where I am—should anyone attempt to locate me, entering the name Harmon Rabb, Jr. into the database will not bring them any results. It all goes back to the terrorist Gunny and I rescued Mac and Clay from. It…irritated him that I thwarted his plans—he began searching for me almost immediately. Fortunately he and I never met and he did not know my name, nonetheless, the SecNav thought it would be prudent for me to assume a different name for the time being. Obviously I can't divulge that name in case this letter would fall into the wrong hands, however, since you're reading this, it's pretty safe to assume that asking Mac to check on the status of the Gunnery Sergeant she worked with when Captain Koonan retired is unnecessary.

Regardless of the circumstances under which I accepted this position, I have no regrets about the work I am doing, just regrets about the lack of contact with friends and family. I always enjoyed the investigations I did at JAG—more so than the courtroom at times—especially when my client would neglect to disclose something that would blow the case wide open, more often than not, incriminating evidence that would earn him or her a harsher sentence than I could have gotten with a plea bargain had I known about the information in the beginning. Don't get me wrong, I do miss litigating, it's just been nice to do something different for a while. There may come a time where I find I really want to get back in the courtroom—hopefully I'll be in a position to do so when that time comes, but that would mean you will probably never read this letter—which I can only say would be a good thing.

But you are reading this so someone has recently informed you that I am either missing or dead. While I must hold out hope it will be the former, I can only believe it will be the latter. This position is dangerous, I'll admit that, but then again so was flying and even some of the investigations I conducted while at JAG.

Don't mourn for what might have been; somewhere along the line I lost the chance to have a family of my own even before whatever this current fiasco is—I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but I can only hope Mac is happy with Webb. My only consolation is that this time I won't have to watch her slip away from me. Perhaps one day, after I hear of her marriage, I will be able to be happy for her. Until then, a part of me is grateful I didn't get to say goodbye; the silence of our trek through the jungle left us both time with our thoughts. I know my thoughts were focused on what I would do if I really were through with the Navy, I can only wonder if Mac's thoughts were with Clayton Webb, or simply getting back to civilization so she could clean the grime of the past week off. All I know is I wanted very badly to say something to her; I couldn't find the words or bring myself to break the silence between us—and that is how I know I lost my chance. Yes Mom, you were right all those years ago, Mac really is quite the girl, and the only one I ever saw myself having a family with. If she's happy, I can only hope that someday I can be happy for her.

There are a few things I want the two of you to know. First, I love you both. I'm not good at expressing how I feel, probably because I spent years suppressing my emotions; the feeling is there, I'm simply not sure how to show it.

Second, I'm sorry I wasn't a good son. I was awful to Frank from day one, also making Mom's life miserable with my willfulness. I silently protested your wedding, refusing to take part by locking myself in my room. Although I deliberately 'forgot' your anniversary for years, going to Vietnam to look for dad around that time wasn't planned to be a slap in the face; I suppose I could say it was coincidence because you got married during the summer break from school. It finally dawned on me during my first trip to Russia how rotten I'd been to both of you, I didn't know how I'd ever be able to get myself out of the rut I'd willingly walked into. I tried to do some of the little things I thought would be appreciated, unfortunately overcoming years of apathy and stubbornness was much harder than I anticipated, especially when you add in the strange hours and assignments I seemed to draw. I'd even gone so far as to purchase the anniversary card I'd more recently intended to send; I believe it's packed away with all my personal belongings somewhere. Look for it if you would, if I don't come back, it says all the things I wish I'd said over the years.

Third, I want to thank you both for your support over the years. No matter how much I pushed, pulled, bent or chaffed at the restrictions you placed on me, you ultimately let me make my own decisions and backed me up even when I made the wrong ones. You were also there when I was in the hospital after my ramp strike and after the massive mechanical failures forced my RIO and I to eject into the Atlantic. I know you would have preferred if I'd left the Navy after that first crash, but the Navy was too ingrained into my person to allow me to take that step, no matter how tempting it got. Even before I left for the academy, the two of you helped instill in me a sense of honor; there were several times you pointed out to me that those weaker than me were to be helped and taken care of, not taken advantage of. Perhaps that's where I got the idea to go to law school when I could no longer fly—it was a way to keep protecting those who needed protection, without having to worry about my night-blindness.

Looking back over this letter, I find myself hoping you never have to read it. My fondest wish is to be able to return to my life—not necessarily JAG and where I was before Paraguay, but at least to having my own name back. I do think I will enjoy the work I am to be doing, and my team seems great—although I can't let them get too close lest they find out the truth. I don't want parts of my life to be a lie, which is how a great deal of it seems now. So much of my time at JAG was spent searching for the truth; I find I'm having a hard time living something that's a lie. I won't start to worry unless I find myself getting complacent about it; although my new self has many of the qualities I've tried to uphold, the simple act of calling myself something other than who I am grates at my conscience and my soul. Should one day I find it no longer bothers me, I will become alarmed because losing my honor is a fate worse than death.

I do hope I will make it back, but if I don't, I'm sorry for the pain I've caused, both now and in the past. I am truly privileged to have such understanding and supportive parents.

Your son,

Harmon Rabb, Jr.

xxxx

Somehow just thinking back on Harm's letter calms Trish enough for her to notice her behavior and consciously make an effort to get her emotions in check. She knows none of the people in this office had anything to do with Harm's current predicament and taking her frustrations out of them is completely unfair. "You definitely look like you've turned your life around, Petty Officer. I'm certain that whatever my son might have done for you, you did the hard part by putting your trust in him and making the effort to change," Trish comments, recalling the conversation she was participating in before getting lost in memories. "Now, I believe someone mentioned there was somewhere out of the way where we could wait for Admiral Chegwidden to return?"

"Right this way, ma'am, sir," Harriet invites, startled out of her own reverie. She leads them to the conference room, making sure they're comfortable and don't need anything before returning to her duties.


	37. Chapter 37

AN: Thank you to all who have reviewed--they brighten my days.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 37

Duncan contacts Sheffield when they stop for their first refueling. He asks if Sheffield can get someone from JAG HQ involved in the Rangers' problems, but has little to offer on Harm's condition. The account is necessarily brief, but enough for Sheffield to call AJ and Mac into his office early the next morning.

"Good morning Mr. Secretary," AJ offers, both he and Mac coming to attention as soon as Sheffield's secretary shows them into the office.

"Have a seat. You're earlier than I expected AJ."

"Your message did say you wanted to see us ASAP, sir. Colonel MacKenzie arrived at the office shortly after I did. I was actually surprised to find you were in already; I would have thought you'd had a long night."

"Actually, I haven't left yet," Sheffield reveals. AJ takes a closer look and notes the lines of fatigue around his eyes, confirming the statement. "I have something I need you to look into."

"The two of us, sir?" Mac asks, speaking for the first time.

"Yes, Colonel. The two of you are, as of this moment, the only ones cleared for the information I'm about to impart to you." He hands each of them a new security badge and some papers to sign. Reading them quickly but thoroughly, AJ and Mac sign their names at the bottom of the forms before handing the papers back. Inwardly, they're curious as to the increase in their security clearances; outwardly, they're ready for whatever assignment Sheffield is preparing to give them. They don't have long to wait as he retrieves a pair of folders from his desk and hands one to each of them.

"I don't understand, sir; these are Army personnel. Why are we involved?" Mac asks after taking a quick look at the contents of the folder.

"That's where it gets complicated. I want the two of you to defend these gentlemen. Charges haven't been filed yet, but it's almost certain they'll be charged with disobeying a direct order and possibly mutiny or desertion and whatever else Army JAG can think of."

"Where are they now, sir?"

"Somewhere between here and the Atlantic."

AJ, who has taken the time to skim through the thin file, thinks he understands. "This has something to do with Rabb's recovery, doesn't it, sir?"

"I don't have all the information; my conversation with Duncan was necessarily brief. General Gordon Danvers sent Captain Todd and his team into the area without the knowledge that there could be a hostage with any terrorists they may come across, or that there were other teams in the area. Since we informed each of the branches of the presence of my team and their objective well before Danvers sent his team into the area, and received confirmation back that the relevant parties had been notified, I can only conclude that he did it deliberately."

"And you don't believe they were acting on their own?"

"I haven't spoken to anyone but Duncan; I don't have an opinion on the matter. I'm going based on the information Duncan gave me—Rabb trusts him implicitly, which makes me do the same."

"Sir, you make it sound like Danvers wanted Harm to be killed," Mac says with confusion. "Have they ever met?"

"Rabb's team has always been my best. They're also the only team to never have lost a team member, whether in training, competition or the field—until now at least. They participated in an inter-service competition a few months ago, winning it with ease. Todd's team was Danvers' chosen team, and he was upset that Todd lost two men, and the competition, while Rabb didn't lose a single man. He accused Rabb and his team of cheating, even brought it up during the final debriefing process. He somehow convinced Todd of his accusations, because there was a fight between Todd's team and Rabb's team after the debrief. Despite the fact that one of Todd's team took the opportunity to try and get Rabb involved in the fight, Rabb ignored him in favor of corralling his team. He imposed his own punishment on the team, including himself in the drudgery he dreamt up to emphasize the meaning of the word 'team.' I don't know what Danvers might have done to Todd, but he was extremely unhappy when his appeal was turned down—the judges couldn't find any evidence Rabb and his team cheated."

"And you believe losing the competition made him angry enough to want to kill him?" AJ asks, attempting to keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

"I don't pretend to understand what goes through the man's mind. All I know is his teams won the competition since he started sending them. I guess he never thought anyone could best his hand-picked teams."

"Have your teams participated in the event before?"

"I didn't know about the competition until last year; I literally found out about it days before it started. I would have liked to have sent Rabb and his team then, but they were out on assignment as was Team 3. Teams 1&2 were on breaks; the only team I had available was 5. Now, don't get me wrong, all of my teams are good, but Rabb brings something extra to his team that makes them even better—I think it has to do with Rabb's complete lack of caring that some of his actions may not always fall under the 'proper' way to do things."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" AJ mutters. "That man quite often has more luck than sense."

"Which could be why General Danvers accused him of cheating, sir," Mac points out. "If his tactics were a combination of instinct and training, they were probably quite unorthodox while still being 'legal'."

"You may have a point, although it still doesn't explain why Danvers may have sent his team with false information."

"Let me guess, you want us to look for the answer to that question while trying to clear our clients," AJ states wryly.

"Discretely. I want to have proof before I go to the Secretary of the Army, but I don't want to tip him off either."

AJ and Mac both roll their eyes at the thought that they might make some sort of novice slip that would blow open their investigation. Even AJ, who doesn't generally litigate, much less investigate anymore, has enough common sense not to make any waves on such a sensitive investigation. Then again, Sheffield's probably just nervous because it could be his job on the line if they don't come up with anything and someone finds out about the investigation. "Okay, that was uncalled for; it's just my neck out there if Danvers catches wind of this." He swears softly. "I wish we had more information to start with…"

"Perhaps Captain Todd and his team can shed some more light on the situation when we get a chance to speak to them, sir. Sometimes all that's needed is someone to ask the correct questions; a lot of times the answer isn't obvious until someone outside the situation takes a look at the problem. I'm fairly confident that Todd, and possibly some of his team members, will have information that will at least point us in the right direction."

Something has been bothering AJ since he and Mac entered the room; it's been a while since he's been in Sheffield's office, but there's something different here. "Is this the competition you're talking about?" he asks, pointing out a small object nearly hidden on the desk. The figurine is about the size of a baseball, halved. It doesn't reflect the light like most trophies, to catch the eye, rather it seems to hide in the shadows, absorbing light and blending into the background. The material used is pewter; the subject an intricately rendered jungle. A large cat—a panther by lack of markings—is caught in mid-yowl, its impressive teeth bared at some unseen enemy.

Sheffield follows his gaze. "You know about the competition?"

"I've heard of it, never participated. A few of my former teammates joined teams that participated, though once they all stopped participating in field work, I stopped getting updates. It's for the best of the best…he's that good?" AJ's selfish side wants the answer to be negative—he wants to get his former officer back; the unselfish side is proud of Harm and his accomplishments in yet another career area, and he wouldn't dream of taking such a competent officer away from where he might be needed most.

"Yes. Unfortunately it seems to be more instinctive than learned, so he's not had much luck teaching his techniques to the rest of the team leaders. I think part of the problem is their inability to get past their training—they just can't seem to let those lessons go and try something different."

"Well, Rabb's always been good at getting around the rules…"

Mac has been studying the figure closely, fascinated by the detail rendered in the soft metal. "What is this exactly, sir? There's no inscription, and it doesn't look like any trophy I've ever seen."

"This is the large version that is given to the winning team leader; if you look carefully, you're supposed to be able to see the year in it somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. A somewhat smaller version is also given to each of the other members of the winning team. The date's on the bottom of those, something like might be stamped as a manufacturing year. I think the difference is that someone assumes the team leaders must have an office or at least a cubby hole somewhere they call home to display it—Rabb sent me his because he said he didn't have any room to carry it with him."

"The date is right here," AJ points out the numbers made into rocks beside what could possibly be a stream running along the outside edge of the piece. "One of my old teammates pointed it out to me when he got his. That's the only difference from year to year, and it's so subtle that unless you know exactly where to look, anyone who has more than one can just say they're part of a set. From my understanding, due to the nature of the competition and the career paths of the participants, this design was decided upon—rather than a trophy or some sort of item that would stand out—simply because as much as they wanted others to know of the outcome, they wanted a subtle way of doing it that would not jeopardize a team member should it be found. Those who know what it's for, know; those who don't just think it's an interesting paperweight."

Although intrigued by the turn in conversation, Mac believes it's time to get things back on track—she has court that afternoon and wants to look over her notes. "What else you can tell us about the situation we are going to be looking into, sir?"

Sheffield sighs, preferring to avoid the upcoming portion of the conversation. He picks up the figurine, turns it over in his hands a few times, and then abruptly thrusts it at AJ. "I assume you'll be providing him with an office somewhere—would you make sure this gets placed in there for him?"

"Aren't you going to be seeing him?" AJ asks, concerned now that Sheffield might be cutting Harm loose.

"Of course. But he won't take it from me. He's drastically exceeded my expectations as both team and command leader, and I want those who would recognize it to see it where it belongs."

Mac places the small trophy and both files in her briefcase while AJ asks the question she's dying to, sending the conversation off on another tangent. "Why send him to JAG if he's doing so well?"

"Frankly because the man needs a break, but he's too stubborn to take one. I've lost count of the number of opportunities I've engineered for him to take leave; he ignored each and every one to fly, study or do research. When I got the go for this new JAG position we thought it would be the perfect way to get him some downtime…he jumbled all my carefully laid plans less than 24 hours after he accepted his current position, now they're all jumbled again."

"What do you mean, sir?" Mac asks, her concern for her friend making her question sharper than she would otherwise have intended.

Sheffield ignores her tone, not really hearing it in light of the other information Duncan imparted; the information he'd like to have more details for, but at the same time forget he heard at all. "Todd's orders were to stop anyone from leaving the area; he was told anyone he would encounter would be a member of the terrorist organization he was being sent to destroy, and given orders authorizing him to use deadly force to make sure no one got away." He holds up a hand forestalling the comments both officers seem to want to make. "To stop the vehicle, they shot out the tires, causing it to roll several times before it finally came to rest in a ditch. Those who were still conscious after that weren't about to surrender peacefully—Todd and his team were in the process of destroying the last vestiges of that resistance when Team 4 found them. Somewhere along the line one of the members of O was killed; Duncan said he thought Jack was responsible, but he wouldn't tell me why."

"Sir, perhaps the shooting was an accident," Mac reasons. "Did he happen to mention if they were bringing him back in custody?"

AJ waits only until Mac has finished speaking before adding his own questions. "O? Is that the Ranger team?"

Sheffield seats himself in his chair, closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair to free his unconscious mind to help him recall the conversation he'd had with Duncan. Five minutes tick by slowly to Mac's internal clock before Sheffield opens his eyes. "He said the Ranger medic and the CIA pilot were with Standes, watching over Rabb on an Osprey; he was following on the helo with Sharpe, Paine, Jerry, the remainder of the Ranger team and Kivers' body," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "I don't believe he mentioned Jack as being on either the helo or Osprey. And O is the designator for Team 4—1 is A, 2 is E, 3 I, 4 O, 5 U. The letters make it easier to keep everyone straight during an op."

"Why a helo and an Osprey?"

"Because we didn't want to give Sadik time to formulate any plans, I requested that Rabb be brought to Washington as soon as possible. I left the details up to Captain McKnight on the _Reprisal_ since he has more knowledge than I do as to the type of aircraft he can get into the air, although I had assumed he'd at least be able to get him in the back seat of an F-18 or even an F-14." Clearly reluctant to say what he knows, as if not saying it will make it not true, Sheffield hesitates again. He's dealing with observant people, though, and both AJ and Mac know what's coming next.

"He's hurt worse than just the shrapnel wounds sustained after he was forced down," AJ guesses correctly.

"I don't have any details, just a warning that he's in bad shape, but—at least as far as the physician on the _Reprisal_ can tell—not in any danger…" The ringing of a telephone startles AJ and Mac and saves Sheffield from having to admit how little he knows about Harm's condition. Mac sneaks a quick glance at AJ, who is watching Sheffield pick up a phone behind the desk, not on it. Similar thoughts run through their minds—Sheffield instructed his secretary when they arrived that he didn't want to be disturbed for anything short of the President calling or the start of WWIII. "Yes," Sheffield says into the handset. A mostly one-sided conversation ensues, with only an occasional cryptic utterance and the sound of hasty notes being taken to indicate Sheffield hasn't merely forgotten about them.

As it appears Sheffield will be a while—and since it doesn't sound like the President calling or the start of WWIII—AJ and Mac quietly begin to discuss possible strategies for their investigation and defense. They become so engrossed in their own conversation that they don't notice when Sheffield ends the first call and makes another. It's only when Sheffield ends the second call and rejoins them that Mac realizes that nearly an hour has passed.

"Sorry about the interruption," Sheffield apologizes, looking like he aged several years in that one hour. "That was Duncan; the Osprey experienced a minor problem on the way to Roosevelt Roads, and the pilot, a Major Asher, didn't want to risk the rest of the journey without a thorough check of his aircraft. He had the presence of mind to call ahead to give them time to ready another aircraft because he wasn't sure how long his inspection would take, or what it would turn up. Waiting for them was a Lear jet; apparently the pilot overheard someone discussing the most suitable aircraft they had available and volunteered himself and the jet."

"With everything that's happened they just got aboard an aircraft with an unknown pilot?" Mac questions incredulously and then adds belatedly, "Sir."

"I don't know how he even got onto the base much less involved in the conversation, but he left the man he was supposed to be flying off the base high and dry. Duncan's offered him a seat on the Osprey which is now fixed and ready to go. Duncan gave me the pilot's name—Jack Keeter—and asked me to run a check on him. When Asher made a comment about landing at Andrews, Keeter remarked it wouldn't be a problem as he'd landed there many times before. He also asked me to check on the CIA pilot, a Gary Hochausen…what?" he asks Mac, noticing the small smile that starts when Keeter's name is mentioned and turns to puzzlement for a brief moment before returning to a faltering smile when he utters the second name.

"Sir, I've met both of those men. Jack Keeter went to the Academy with Harm; he occasionally accepts black ops missions. Gary Hochausen was Harm's mentor. I'm more surprised to hear he's still a pilot than I am to hear he left the Navy and is working for the CIA. Partly due to his diminishing vision, one of his flight instructors clipped a power line, lost control of his Tomcat and had to eject. The jet crashed into a car, killing a woman and her infant son. Captain Hochausen was just going to let his instructor take the blame, but after recreating the flight with Harm and I in the Tomcat, he made a rookie mistake during his landing, which made Harm suspicious. During the trial, Harm proved that the captain cheated on his eye exams, ultimately putting lives at risk by his refusal to face facts."

"If I recall the case correctly, Rabb was prosecuting and you were defending," AJ comments. He remembers the slightly dejected look on Harm's face when they returned from that case.

"You are correct, sir. I was planning on calling a young lieutenant, Schiparelli if I remember correctly, who worshiped Captain Hochausen. Harm apparently took one look at Schiparelli and chose to prove the captain's shortcomings himself. He tried to patch things up with his mentor after the trial…he sacrificed the relationship they'd had in the name of truth."

"That doesn't sound like he'd be very motivated in helping Rabb out, but from the reports I've gotten, he's the one that lead the team to the camp just in time to see the trucks pull out. Now I'm even more interested in whatever Maxwell can find on him."

As if conjured by his name being spoken, Sheffield's aide, Robert Maxwell, knocks briefly before entering the office with a stack of papers. "I took the liberty of making copies of my findings," he states, handing a third of the papers to each of the occupants of the room. "Can I get you anything else?" Receiving a negative reply, he exits the room, leaving Sheffield, AJ and Mac engrossed in the profiles he put together.

"Things are starting to make sense now," Sheffield comments. "Losing his own family must have made Hochausen realize just why Rabb chose to pursue the truth rather than sweep things under the rug. And it looks like his friend Keeter is now officially working for the CIA." Sure enough, shortly after the events surrounding the stealth jet, Keeter resigned his commission in the US Navy and joined the ranks of the CIA. Although much of the information on his actions since joining is classified, Maxwell managed to discover he'd been assigned to the air wing, flying various CIA officials wherever they felt the need to go. The man Keeter left high and dry in Puerto Rico, cursing his disappearing pilot, is probably a fairly high ranked CIA agent.

Into the silence brought by their perusal of the documents provided by Maxwell, Mac asks, "Sir, did Duncan give you any further news on Harm's condition?" It's the question she and AJ have been anxious to have answered and the one Sheffield has been just as anxious to avoid.

"I still don't have specifics because Duncan doesn't have specifics and he doesn't want to speculate. Now, ordinarily you'd be correct in saying I am simply withholding information, but this time I really don't have it. Your Lt. Commander Austin reported that Sadik discovered Rabb is the one who foiled his plans and destroyed his Stingers in Paraguay. She said he was beaten and not allowed to sleep, eat or drink. Duncan did tell me Rabb was injured escaping from the embassy, was too close to the plane when it exploded and was tortured and beaten again by Sadik and his men before the truck he was in rolled. Sadik also knows he is Commander Post, which seemed to just make him even more determined to do unspeakable things to Rabb—only one of which he had the opportunity to carry out. We know Sadik was using the hostages in the Embassy to lure Rabb to him; he apparently has a base somewhere that he was planning on taking him to when he got his hands on him. It is my opinion they were in the process of transporting him there when Todd and his team intercepted the truck which is why we are inclined to look into the matter between him and Danvers."

Neither AJ nor Mac welcomes the change in topics; AJ is not inclined to let it happen without one last effort at getting a straight answer. "What you're saying is we're going to have to wait until Rabb is back in Washington before we can get answers about his condition. What then, am I supposed to tell his mother?"

Sheffield realizes he has lost control of this conversation somewhere along the line; he just can't get them to stay away from the topics he wants to avoid. He didn't enjoy the first phone call with Harm's mother, and doesn't want to do another one without as much information as he can possibly get—besides, what are a few more hours when the woman is on the opposite side of the country? "What does his mother have to do with anything? She'll be contacted when we have given the doctors at Bethesda sufficient time to determine the extent of his injuries and what, if any, recovery time he's looking at."

AJ drops a bombshell that blows all of Sheffield's attempts to dodge out of the water. "Actually, sir, she's probably at JAG by now. She's not the type to just sit back and let someone tell her when she can visit her son. Not bothering him while he's 'on assignment' is one thing, but you can't keep her away when he's injured—even Rabb has found it difficult to deny her the information she wants when she sets her mind to it."

"What is she doing at JAG?" Sheffield practically thunders. "I told her I'd contact her when we had more information."

"I took the liberty of including a message to her with the letter Colonel MacKenzie forwarded explaining he was returning to my command, albeit in a slightly different position. She wants details—even the messy ones—not squeaky clean press releases that don't tell her anything. I think that after losing her husband, she decided she wanted to know everything that happened to her son, no matter how horrible it might be to hear. I spoke to her quite extensively after Rabb was rescued from the Atlantic and she said that hearing no news was worse than hearing bad news," AJ explains calmly.

"It sounds like she's a little overprotective of her son."

"Wouldn't you be, sir?" Mac questions. "For nearly 30 years she didn't know what happened to her husband other than he'd been shot down and not found by our people. Then her son disappears to look for him at the age of 16—if Harm knew then what he knows now he probably would have found him. Eight years ago he and I traveled to Russia following a trail of evidence he'd begun to uncover the year before. I know she got the news that they shot us down; I can't imagine what she must have felt at that point, to have lost her son while he was looking for his missing father. I'm surprised she even let him out of her sight after that."

"Rabb doesn't strike me as the type of man who would let his mother mother him; he's too independent."

"I don't think he would have had any say in the matter—I'm sure he learned how to be so stubborn from her example. His mother is a force to be reckoned with; rank doesn't impress her if she thinks you have information she believes she needs. I wouldn't keep anything from her regarding her son—other than classified information, of course; work with her and I'm sure you'll find her amiable and gracious."

There is an almost mischievous glimmer in Sheffield's eyes as he mulls over AJ's advice. "I'll defer to your experience in dealing with Mrs. Burnett; in fact, I'd like you to see to it she has everything she needs, not only in regards to information, but also lodging and transportation. I'll make sure you're notified when Rabb arrives at Bethesda," Sheffield offers, abruptly dismissing them by turning his attention to a file he randomly chooses from a drawer. Mac tosses the papers distributed by Maxwell in her briefcase and the two slightly confused officers come to attention briefly before exiting the office. Before the door completely closes behind them Sheffield flips open the cellular phone that had just begun to vibrate against his leg.


	38. Chapter 38

Okay folks, you asked for it, you got it. Thank you to all who read and especially to those who give feedback. The rest of the author's notes are at the end this time.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 38

It's a little tricky getting Harm onto the Lear; the jet just wasn't made with the thought of being used to transport injured parties. Despite the close quarters, Standes, Mitchell, Gary and the Osprey crew manage to get everything transferred by the time Keeter is finished obtaining clearance to take off. He is startled when Gary joins him in the cockpit; the presence of his former instructor, in civilian attire and looking a little worse for wear, causing all sorts of questions to take up residence in his mind, eager for the chance to be asked. Understanding from the request for the fastest aircraft available that they don't have any time to spare, Keeter resolutely squelches the urge to grill Gary while he concentrates on getting the jet in the air.

Gary knows what will be coming once they're at cruising altitude; he chooses to make a preemptive strike just before Keeter opens his mouth to speak. "It's a bit crowded back there," he explains his presence, leaving out the fact that he is glad that's the case because it gives him a valid excuse to gain just a little bit of distance from the past couple of days. "I hope you don't mind if I join you up here."

"What are you doing here, sir? I mean you told me why you're up here, but why are you here at all?" Keeter asks, flustered.

"We work for the same employer now, no need to call me 'sir'," Gary advises the younger man. "And as for why I'm here…I guess you could say I was in the right place at the wrong time."

"Is this an operation gone wrong?" His instincts tell him it's highly unlikely—why would a CIA operation be using Navy bases and Marine equipment and personnel?—and that doesn't even begin to explain the Ranger.

"Ended sooner than expected, maybe, but not gone wrong. Have you been listening to the news in the past few days?"

"I pulled one too many black ops while I was still in the Navy; the CIA took me in when I could no longer fly off carriers. Now, I ferry our bosses around—and before you say it, I'm sure this isn't going to go over too well with the one I just left back there. So in answer to your question, I tend to isolate myself from what goes on in the world." He glances over at his former instructor. "I've been doing this for years, and it still gets me that I can't do more for my country."

Gary understands immediately where he's coming from, and he knows one of their passengers feels—or at least felt—the same way at one time. "Your passengers don't ever let anything slip?" he queries, earning a self-depreciating smirk from the man flying the plane.

"I learned when I started this job how to filter everything but what I need to hear for the assignment from any conversation going on. For the past week and a half it's just been two of us, and he generally doesn't talk to himself." The expression on Gary's face stirs the curiosity Keeter's long since buried and raises a bit of apprehension along with it. "What's been going on that I should know about?"

For some reason, Gary is now loathe to drag Keeter back into a world he's tried so hard to leave behind. He debates with himself for a few minutes before he decides it's necessary to break the former aviator's self-imposed distance from the real world. "Well, I'm going to have to make some assumptions here, but you probably don't keep in touch with any of your former friends either, do you?"

"What's the point? They're still doing what I wish I was doing," Keeter answers morosely.

"I know of at least one who isn't; what about him?"

"Harm still flies." Gary gives Keeter a sharp look. "Okay, so I didn't completely close myself off from the world when I left the Navy. I heard about the stunt he pulled on the Seahawk; I even talked to him several times after that. But one day he stopped returning my calls; I couldn't reach him at home or work, so I figured he'd found out about my leaving the Navy and decided I didn't fit into his world any more." Keeter is bitter, believing the one friend he thought he could count on to understand would cast him aside.

"And that's why you cut yourself off from everything?" Gary shakes his head, wondering why he's even contemplating getting into this when he could just keep his mouth shut. "You never thought there might be a reason behind his silence other than wanting to disassociate himself from you?"

Keeter shrugs, refusing to say another word on the matter. "What's the story with the guy back there?" he asks to change the subject.

"Several days ago a pilot was forced down and captured by a terrorist; the same terrorist I was assigned to in order to gather information on his organization."

"Better you than me," Keeter comments to himself, too low for Gary to catch. "Was he injured trying to find this pilot or something?"

Gary's glad Keeter wasn't this slow in flight school. "Actually, he is the pilot."

Keeter glances back into the cabin, obviously confused. "They look like they're military, which brings me back to the question I asked earlier; why are you here?"

Gary hits the highlights of the rescue, explaining that because Sadik is still at large, it was deemed necessary to get his target back to the States as soon as possible. Keeter ponders the information while making a few minute adjustments to their heading. "You asked me about my flying buddies because this guy is one of them," he deduces, making it a statement, not a question. Gary's nod of confirmation goes unnoticed as Keeter works the rest out. "You seemed especially concerned about my contact with Harm, so I'd have to guess he's the one back there." For a very brief moment the urge to see his friend for himself flares to the surface, but it's quickly extinguished under a flood of anger.

"Why are you so certain he was avoiding you?" Gary asks, noticing the brief conflict.

"We had been planning on getting together on a weekend I was going to be in town. I called several days ahead of time to confirm our plans; I got his answering machine at home, his voice mail on his cell and a nervous sounding Petty Officer at the office telling me he wasn't available. I kept trying for a couple of weeks after that. The last time I tried, his cell phone was disconnected, I didn't even get his answering machine at home and the same Petty Officer told me he didn't work at the office any more. I figured he'd gotten tired or irritated with me trying to get hold of him and made sure I couldn't reach him. The only strange thing was she didn't even ask who was calling; she just told me he wasn't there any more."

Gary wrestles with his conscience, debating on whether he should do what he's contemplating. A flashback to the look on Harm's face when he told about meeting his former coworkers on the _Reprisal_ decides it for him. "I'm probably going to be violating a confidence here, but I think you need to know what I do. Unless I'm way off base, Harm didn't deliberately avoid your calls at all; he was in the brig, accused of murdering a coworker. The man who framed him, also someone he used to work with, did such a good job of it—coupled, Harm admitted to me, with him trying to protect his brother—that he was very close to going to prison for the crime. I can't say for sure why he didn't contact you when he got out of the brig, but not too long after he was released, he went after Colonel MacKenzie, who was on a CIA mission that got compromised. Upon returning from that one, he got roped into a new career path and left without a word to anyone. The terrorist who was holding him is the same one he saved Colonel MacKenzie from, and one he's run into several times since he was forced to leave JAG and take a new name. He had actually just been appointed to a new position with JAG when he was asked to fly this last mission.

"I, too, was angry at him for some time because I couldn't fathom how he could so easily throw away our friendship; it never really occurred to me that I was the one who closed that door. I suppose what hurt the worst was that he didn't come to me with his suspicions, he aired them in court where he enabled me to make a fool of myself. I'm not blinded now to know that if he'd brought his suspicions to me back then I would have dismissed them without even once thinking they might have merit. Had he been most anyone else I know, when he saw me working for the terrorist that had just captured him he wouldn't have given me a chance to explain—being the man he is, he did give me a chance. I don't blame him for being skeptical at first. All I'm suggesting is that you give him a chance to explain his side of the story—but it will have to wait, since he's not conscious."

Questions spin in Keeter's mind, quickly forgotten when they hit a particularly bad patch of turbulence. To this point the flight hasn't been bad, Keeter's been running parallel to a pretty nasty storm, but the minor turbulence they've been experiencing has been easy for him to deal with. The unexpected pocket of major turbulence they encounter dumps the unprepared trio in the cabin onto the floor.

"Give us a warning next time if you can't keep it steady," Mitchell hollers from the passenger cabin.

"Sorry," Keeter mutters, angry at himself for getting distracted. He growls at Gary not to talk to him unless it's directly related to flying the plane and turns his full attention to that task; now that they're heading into the storm they've been skirting, he's going to need to stay focused. He also resolutely pushes down the feelings of guilt at not being completely honest with Gary—Harm had tried to contact him, probably when he'd been released from the brig, but he'd been too angry at what he perceived to be a brush-off to return the call.

xxx

In contrast to the tense conversation in the front of the plane, the corpsman and the medic find they have little need for conversation as they have unconsciously developed their own routine. Once they're again airborne, the two men silently perform the same checks they'd completed just before this round of musical aircraft; the IV is inspected from the bag on down to make sure there are no kinks or holes and the whole thing is still working properly, blood pressure, temperature and pulse are checked and recorded—the fever has dropped .2 degrees—and the bandages are checked for indications they need to be changed sooner than planned, because despite their best efforts, the transfer wasn't as smooth as they had hoped. With all that accomplished, the two sit back to enjoy a bit of the comfort offered by the plush surroundings.

"Never thought I'd get to ride in something like this," Mitchell comments after a while, glancing around at the décor that is a lot more comfortable than your average military transport.

Standes laughs. "Well, I joined the Navy because I don't get along well with heights—I figured that joining the branch that enables people to travel around the world by boat would be the way to go. Little did I know I'd end up with a promising career that would not only mean I'd be flying a lot, but that I'd also occasionally be jumping out of perfectly good aircraft. It's funny in a way; get me up higher than about the second step of a ladder and I'm shaking like a leaf, but give me a pack and tell me to jump out of a plane and I'm completely at ease." He looks around him in awe; this is the VIP jet after all. "It would take a lot of convincing to get me to jump out of this thing, though. Look at it; plush carpet and seats, plenty of light, it's quiet and warm…heck, I could probably fall asleep in here and I never sleep on planes." Mitchell gives him a significant look, prompting Standes to add, "Not that I'm tired now, mind you."

"That's probably a load of bull, but I can understand your reluctance to let him alone with someone you're not completely sure you can trust." Mitchell puts up a hand to forestall any protest. "I don't think it's anything personal; you've been betrayed by someone you trusted and that will make it extremely difficult to trust anyone else in the future. Believe me when I say I'm very grateful—and somewhat astonished—that, instead of throwing us to the wolves, your Commander Duncan is trying to find some way to help us. My team was put together with some of us fresh out of training—we'd never met before and for a while we had a hard time working together. We nearly tanked our first couple of missions and then all of a sudden, we clicked. I think that surprised General Danvers more than our near failures in the beginning. He hadn't paid much attention to us to that point; afterwards we suddenly found ourselves his favorite team. We won that competition our first time out; being beaten this year seems to have once again altered our status with General Danvers—except for this assignment, we've gotten what must be the dregs of the available missions."

"You weren't given any training as a team?" Standes questions.

"No. It was pretty much sink or swim. We started out with six teams; one by one the other teams went through pretty spectacular failures until we were the only ones left. I don't know what happened to the surviving members of those other teams; I never saw any of them around the base after they left on what became their final missions. So how about you guys? What did the Navy do differently?"

"Actually, our teams—mine and the other four formed at the same time—consist of Navy and Marine personnel. We spent a year in training; every member either had to take the training course or pass a proficiency test that allowed them to opt out of the training—except him." He gazes at Harm a little sadly. "It was almost like he wasn't supposed to be too deeply involved, and then suddenly he was not only involved but then he was required to take each and every training course."

"You don't have any idea what changed?"

"The day before we started training Sheffield picked up Jack and Jerry. The rest of us were told training would begin the next day and that we needed to report to Gunnery Sergeant Crockett on the sniper range at 0500. We'd just finished up what Crockett called his qualification course when Sheffield, Jack and Jerry returned with a fourth—and very tired looking—passenger. I think Crockett had instructions that he was to choose two candidates from among those of us he tested; it surprised us all when he announced he was going to train the Captain along with Lieutenant Sharpe. Crockett and Sheffield had a heated conversation when Crockett wouldn't back down. Eventually Sheffield must have given in because they rejoined us and Crockett ordered the Captain to get some rest and be ready to begin the next morning. The rest of us, with the exception of Sharpe, were told we weren't needed and we could either go on liberty or stay and watch the training. Jack and Jerry remained to be spotters and the rest of us decided on liberty. We were recalled from leave earlier than we expected by a once again irate Sheffield. He told us, and I quote 'Commander Post has decided that in order to make up for your late start in training, you will not receive the usual liberty between training sessions. Instead, you will proceed directly from one assignment to the next.' It really wasn't bad for the rest of us; it was very rare that we participated in more than two back to back training courses, so we had liberty when we opted out of training. I don't know how he did it; the Captain had spent the better part of a decade as a JAG—and yet he sailed through all of the training like he'd done it all before."

"He's a lawyer?" Mitchell latches onto that one odd thought.

"Why do you think Commander Duncan is so sure he'll be able to find some way to help you? He worked at JAG Headquarters, under the JAG himself for most of those ten years."

"So how exactly did he get caught in the middle of this mess?"

"Well, he's also a fighter pilot. This one we knew about, at least a bit, because Sheffield would occasionally pull him for a mission or training. Jack and Jerry usually accompanied him on these trips; I don't think even they knew what kind of pilot he was though, or if they did, they never shared it with the rest of us."

"Wow. So he did all these things before signing up as your team leader? I wonder why…" Mitchell trails off, embarrassed to be thinking out loud.

"I don't believe it was an entirely voluntary decision, and I can understand why. I served on carriers for a while and heard his name—his real name, not his cover one—mentioned several times in conjunction with some pretty impressive feats, both as an aviator and a lawyer. I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet that this is the same person who's done so well, not only with our team, but all the teams under his command." Mitchell looks askance at the comment. "Our five teams are all still active; he gives out the assignments, tells each team what they need to improve on, goes through prospective replacements before the individual team leaders get a shot at them and still manages to keep ahead of the rest of us. He has very deep reserves of energy, but I think this time he's pretty much tapped them out."

Both men fall silent in their contemplations of their charge—in the time since they left the carrier his newest bruises have blossomed, hiding all but the tiniest patches of his pale skin. In contrast with the obviously painful condition of his body, Harm hasn't once moved during their journey. This concerns Standes, but only a little because he's been through so much lately—and Silver confided he slipped something to help him relax in with the pain killers. After a time, the two men stir out of their own thoughts to tend to their patient and eventually resume their conversation, this time their topics stray from their jobs, touching on their own personal histories and their favorite places for liberty.

The flight passes quickly in the comfortable cabin. As they complete what they expect to be their last check of their patient's vitals, the aircraft unexpectedly shudders around them and then drops, all the while tilting to one side. Completely unprepared, they grab onto the nearest object, which in Standes' case happens to be the stretcher upon which his CO is lying. A last bump of the aircraft throws Mitchell into both Navy men, sending the three tumbling to the floor. "Give us a warning next time if you can't keep it steady," he yells loudly before helping Standes extricate himself from under the stretcher. They maneuver it back into place as carefully as possible in the small confines of the passenger cabin, being as gentle as circumstances allow.

"Are you all right? You look a little green," Mitchell comments once they have themselves and Harm resituated.

Standes absently shreds the wrapper to one of the gauze pads they used when changing Harm's bandages, "Only if I can convince myself this plane isn't going to fall out of the air," he mutters.

"Why don't I go check on our ETA?" Mitchell suggests. "Just sit back and try to relax; I'll be right back."

xxx

"Sorry about the rough ride," Keeter apologizes as soon as Mitchell pokes his head into the cockpit. "We've been skirting a pretty nasty storm the whole way back; I guess I got a bit too close."

"Are we going to have to go through this storm to land?"

"We're just about ahead of it now. I think you'll have enough time to get Harm to Bethesda before it hits."

Mitchell's about to comment when Standes joins them. "Do you have an ETA yet?" Standes sounds a little panicked.

"Twenty-two minutes, by my calculations," Gary offers. "There's a helo waiting to take the four of us to Bethesda."

"What's wrong?" Mitchell asks.

"His blood pressure's dropping," Standes says quietly. "I think that little patch of turbulence finished what the rolling of the truck started."

The blood drains from Keeter's face. He spares a quick glance at Gary, hoping he's on the same wavelength. "I'll give you two minutes to get everything secured back there; this ride's about to get bumpy."

xxx

Standes and Mitchell waste no time in getting Harm's stretcher moved to the floor; it'll still be bumpy, but at least there won't be any danger of him being tossed there again. The cushions are pulled from the seats and placed against the bottoms of the seats for protection and the bags of supplies are securely belted into the seats to avoid becoming projectiles. Mitchell takes a seat on the floor behind Harm's head; he won't budge when Standes argues that is his responsibility, he simply reminds the CPO that **he** isn't the one who reacted badly to the last bit of turbulence. That argument seems to work as Standes belts himself into the only seat left and says nothing further.

True to Keeter's prediction, and exactly two minutes after his announcement, the plane begins to jump about. Standes is immediately grateful for Mitchell's forethought; he's concentrating on holding on for dear life just a moment later.

Having declared an emergency and requesting permission to fly a straight approach to the air base, Keeter is doing everything he can to coax just a little more power out of the Lear; the stresses and odd angle into the wind buffeting the plane about. In the copilot's seat, Gary is keeping Andrews informed of their progress and confirming the presence of the helo they've been promised. He also keeps an eye on the instruments, instructing Keeter to make minute adjustments when needed. With the two aviators working in tandem, and their passengers quietly—if not calmly—enduring the less than smooth flight, they manage to shave several minutes off the previously offered ETA, rolling to a stop next to the waiting helo in under 20 minutes.

Keeter watches his passengers make a quick transfer, getting his first glimpse at one of his oldest friends. The still, silent and much abused man little resembles the cocky aviator he remembers from flight school, or even the confident and daring lawyer who rescued him and his plane from Iran. As the group disappears into the helo, he sends up a quick prayer for the friend he can no longer feel anger towards.

xxx

The helo ride is mercifully short. Once they're finally inside the hospital they're met by what almost amounts to a horde of doctors and nurses. Sheffield is there as well, and he pulls Mitchell and a very reluctant Standes aside after they've relayed all pertinent information from the trip to the doctors. "There are going to be plenty of men and women in that room," Sheffield admonishes them. "I need clarification on a couple of matters and then the two of you need to get cleaned up, something decent to eat and a few hours sleep before you return here."

"I promised Commander Duncan I wouldn't let Captain Rabb out of my sight," Standes argues.

Sheffield sweeps his hand around the area where there still seems to be a large amount of people gathered. Standes is about to protest when he realizes there are a couple of very familiar faces in the crowd—members of team 2, who are currently on liberty. "I had dozens of volunteers for anything and everything when word got out who the missing pilot was. Team 2 will go back into the rotation tomorrow, but for now I hope you will agree that they will be much more effective than a single, exhausted corpsman, no matter how determined he is. And yes, I'll be sending the rest of your team after you when they arrive."

"Why aren't you sending him home?" Mitchell asks, pointing to where Gary is being helped into surgical garb.

"I'd like to, but he's needed in case something comes up that needs clarification in there. As soon as they're confident with the knowledge they have, he'll be sent home too."

He won't pretend to like the situation, but Standes acquiesces to Sheffield's wishes after extracting a promise of an immediate phone call should anything go wrong. He and Mitchell leave the hospital with the driver Sheffield tasked to see them to the hotel he'd reserved earlier for the two teams. It's a testament to their fatigue that neither the Seal nor the Ranger notices the car that shadows theirs the short distance to their destination, or the two figures who exit the car when it slides into a parking space.

AN: Once again, I'm sorry for the long interval between updates. In addition to the looming presence of inventory prep the end of this past week, I unfortunately also experienced a couple of medical problems that haven't been letting me get any sleep at night. I am sincerely hoping the next update won't take too long, but it really depends on what curves life decides to throw me in the meantime. Please be as patient as possible—despite the recent news, I fully intend to finish this story. I just need a little more sunshine to chase away the remnants of the clouds that have been an oppressive presence for the last several months.


	39. Chapter 39

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 39

"Chief Standes, Corporal Mitchell, may we have a word with you?" an authoritative voice rings out in the lobby of the hotel, startling the two men. Mitchell wants to disappear into the floor when he sees who's called out to them, but Standes seems almost pleased.

Although they're tired and certainly not at their best in their rumpled cammies, they both manage to come crisply to attention. "Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel MacKenzie," Standes greets the officers, "What can we do for you sir?"

There is a semi-private nook located just off the main lobby area; AJ holds off answering until they're all settled around the table they find there. He addresses his first comments to both men before turning his attention to Mitchell. "We understand you've had a couple of trying days so we won't keep you long. The SecNav has asked Colonel MacKenzie and me to look into the situation with Major Todd's team. Corporal, we were hoping you could tell us if there was anything unusual during your mission briefing—anything that was different from previous briefings, whether an omittance or addition, anything that might give us a starting point for our investigation."

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask Major Todd or Captain Lee, sir. General Danvers briefs them and they fill the rest of us in. Major Todd once tried arguing that the rest of us should be there, but it didn't do any good—it's not the way the general wants it done."

There is something in Standes' expression at Mitchell's pronouncement that piques Mac's interest. "How are briefings handled for your teams, Chief?"

"Well ma'am, I suppose you could say our briefings are similar, but that's only because Captain Rabb is the one who hands out the assignments for our teams. He conducts a full briefing for the entire team and he's always encouraged any team member who has a question to speak up. Our first assignment, he came out of a meeting with the SecNav just before we were scheduled to leave; fortunately he was able to brief the rest of us and come up with a workable plan before we were dropped in the middle of a disaster. Something must have been said about how unhappy he was about the situation because we were all invited to the next briefing, and that mission was even smoother than the first. I've heard that while briefings that are conducted when we are in the field are complete, the teams prefer to have the captain do their briefings."

"Sir, ma'am, I'm not sure if it means anything, but occasionally when they return from a briefing Major Todd seems…well, not himself. Captain Lee generally fills the rest of us in when that happens, and I don't think it's because he left something out that those are the missions that are the most trying. The briefing for this last assignment was one of those times."

It just doesn't seem to make any sense that General Danvers would choose to send his teams out without making sure they were completely briefed. From his days as a Seal, AJ knows that missions of these types go much more smoothly when most of the team isn't left in the dark. He's also personally observed a petty officer bring up a potential problem that changed the direction of a mission and ended up saving the lives of the team involved. Why wouldn't Danvers want to give everyone the chance to input their suggestions and make things safer for everyone?

Mac has the same questions, but her thoughts behind them are a little different. She and Harm often used each other as a sounding board on cases that they weren't opposing each other on. They each had a different way of looking at things, which was why it made perfect sense to ask for the other's perspective when they were stuck or feeling uncertain about their chosen direction. Many times the other picked up something that was inadvertently overlooked by the first, putting a new spin on whatever evidence they were looking at. Why wouldn't Danvers give his teams the chance to bring all perspectives to the table to begin with?

"Do Major Todd and Captain Lee usually return from these briefings with a plan, or is that left up to you as a team?" Mac asks.

"They always bring a plan back with them, ma'am."

"Is it a general plan, or specific orders?" AJ queries.

Mitchell ponders that for a bit, delving into his memory for the times Todd and Lee returned with news of their next mission. "I would say they had specific orders, sir. We almost never changed anything after beginning the mission, and the few times we did…"

"The few times you did, what?" AJ prompts when he doesn't continue.

Mitchell looks uncomfortable, like he's being forced to reveal something humiliating. "Well, sir—and this is only what I've observed—Major Todd was always more nervous than usual when we got back from a mission where he changed the plan we'd been given. It wasn't like he'd just arbitrarily decided to make those changes; someone would have gotten hurt if he hadn't. I walked by the general's office once after we returned from one of those missions and the general was clearly unhappy that his plans had been changed. I didn't stick around, but I could still hear him yelling when I reached our barracks."

"What kind of changes are we talking about?"

"Minor ones, sir. Sergeant Brown sprained his ankle approaching one of our objectives, so instead of sending him in to rescue the hostages, he left him with me and took Captain Lee in instead. By the time they all came out, I'd wrapped his ankle; he was able to walk unassisted, but he did slow us down a bit. He wouldn't have been able to do his job in there, but the major was chewed out because he thought it would be best to have someone who wasn't injured inside with him and the rest of the team.

AJ and Mac both shake their heads at the unfathomable reasoning of the Army general. Standes sits in amazement as he listens to what he's almost positive Harm would classify incompetence by his friend's commanding officer, while Mitchell looks even more like he'd just like to melt into the floor. Before either officer can ask for his comparison, Standes offers it. "I still can't say what goes on in the other briefings, sir, but ours aren't anything like that. Even though the captain has a plan thought out before he begins our briefing, he presents it after giving us all the information he's received and asks for our opinions. Very rarely does an entire plan make it through unscathed, and even then we often find ourselves making adjustments in the field. I couldn't imagine not having the flexibility and adaptability to make those changes." He yawns at the end of his statement and immediately apologizes, but both officers feel they've heard enough to get them started at least. They each produce a small stack of business cards, splitting them between the two men, asking them to distribute the extras to their team members before dismissing them to head up to their rooms.

"The more I hear about this General Danvers, the more I dislike him," AJ comments absently.

"I agree, sir. I just hope Major Todd will be willing to give us a full statement. It'll be hard getting anywhere in this if all we end up with is hearsay."

AJ nods in agreement and checks his watch. "What do you say we call the Burnett's and let them know Harm is at Bethesda? We can meet them there and get an update before heading back to the office."

"That sounds like a plan, sir." What Mac had really wanted to do is get that update from the two men who accompanied Harm to Bethesda, but AJ's calm reasoning that they would head back to the hospital after speaking with Standes and Mitchell, giving the staff there time to get the things done that they needed to do. She can't help but agree with the logic, partly because she feels she needs to see him, to talk to him and tell him she's sorry for believing he left on purpose, to tell him she's sorry for the way she treated him during their brief encounter on the carrier.

xxx

Following their meeting with AJ at JAG, Trish and Frank check in to their suite at the Omni Shoreham. Frank enters the living area after unpacking his things to find Trish sitting on the couch, staring into space with Harm's letter once again crumpled in her hand. There are no tears on her face and when she speaks her voice is steady, but both her eyes and her voice betray the pain she is feeling. "Is it too much to hope that this time my son won't have to pay for being a good and honorable man?" AJ had told them everything he knew, which although isn't anything specific, is a lot more than simply being told he was missing.

Unsure of what to say because he doesn't want to give her false promises or empty platitudes, Frank simply sits beside her and offers his strength. They remain like that, just sitting without talking, for some time. It's finally the ringing of the telephone that draws them out of whatever memories and thoughts they've been lost in.

"That was AJ," Frank tells Trish unnecessarily after a brief conversation. "Harm's at Bethesda. He and Colonel MacKenzie are going to meet us there. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," Trish replies absently, both dreading and anticipating what's to come.

xxx

Neither of the petty officers manning the information desk can find any record of Harm being admitted to the hospital. The frazzled young lieutenant they summon when they exhaust every possible avenue into the information they can think of isn't happy about the interruption, but he quickly squelches the urge to remind them of his displeasure when he sees AJ's uniform.

"I'm sorry, sir," he says contritely ten minutes later, "I can't seem to find any recent entries for the person you're looking for; in fact, the last entry I see is January 2003 for a routine physical."

"Sir, perhaps with Sadik on the loose they admitted him under a different name," Mac suggests for AJ's ears only.

AJ agrees with Mac's assessment, but just how are they—or his parents for that matter—supposed to find him if that's indeed the case? "Where would we find someone who was brought in by helicopter?" No sense trying to guess the name; and there really aren't any guarantees that he's even in the computer at this point, so asking for a run-down of any male patients brought in by helo in the last hour or so could turn out to be a wild goose chase. This option should at least narrow down their search.

Or maybe not. "That depends on their status when they arrive, sir. If they're transferring from another facility to continue recuperation, they'd most likely already be assigned a room, so that's where they'd go. If they're critical or haven't yet been evaluated, they'd most likely be sent to the ER—or directly to the OR if necessary. While it's not impossible for a transfer to have not been entered within a few minutes of arrival…" the lieutenant looks decidedly uncomfortable, lowering his voice after sparing a glance at Trish and Frank who have stepped far enough away that they can carry on a whispered conversation of their own, "…is it possible the man you're looking for could have been transferred to the morgue instead?"

That's not exactly something AJ wants to even think about at this time, but he is grateful the young man had the foresight to make sure Trish and Frank were out of earshot—he just wishes Mac had been as well; she's white as a sheet. "I sincerely hope not," he says, thanking the lieutenant and petty officers before turning to the others. "SecNav wanted him back in DC as quickly as possible; it sounded like they didn't have time to do a thorough evaluation before he left the carrier. I think our best bet is to inquire in the ER—we can go from there if necessary."

Neither Trish or Frank comment on the color that's slowly returning to Mac's ashen features, or the almost veiled look of anguish in AJ's eyes; they have a good idea what the young officer told their son's friends, and while their heads are telling them they need to prepare for the worst, their hearts insist they shouldn't give up.

xxx

Many miles from DC, in a compound where most rooms don't see the light of day, Jack finally locates his uncle in a small, cold and otherwise empty room.

"Does he live?" Sadik asks without turning around. Jack had sent the other men ahead to report the ambush, choosing to remain behind to gather whatever information he could before heading to the compound himself.

"My view was somewhat obstructed, but I did see them bandaging his wounds; they wouldn't have done that if he were dead."

"Good." Already images of new ways to inflict pain on the man who continues to thwart him dance through his mind.

"They will protect him, but I don't think they will try to hide him this time, at least not for long."

"So we will again search for him and when we find him we will wait until they have let their guard down to bring him here."

In that time they will make new plans and put into effect those they've already made. They will find new recruits and train them; their compound will be well provisioned and well guarded. And when the time comes, they will be ready; ready to exact revenge on the man who's ruined more of their plans than any other.

xxx

Until they near their goal, the two officers and two civilians are barely given a second glance. That all changes when they enter the waiting area for the ER. Seated around the room are several individuals who are just a little too alert to their surroundings to be there for any reason other than security. The uniformed MPs at the doors separating the waiting area from the ER itself, as well as the pair actually in the ER—visible only when someone enters or exits the area—confirm AJ's thought that Harm is in the area. Unfortunately they can't get anyone to tell them anything; no amount of pleading, threatening or pulling or rank makes a difference because they're not on an elusive cleared list. They've just admitted defeat and decided to try in the morning when a familiar—at least to AJ and Mac—figure enters the waiting area.

"Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel MacKenzie, what brings you here?"

"We were trying to get these folks in to see their son, but keep getting stonewalled. Commander Duncan; Trish and Frank Burnett, Captain Rabb's parents. Trish, Frank; Lieutenant Commander Duncan, one of Harm's team members."

Duncan's learned enough unexpected things about his CO in the past several days that meeting his team leader's parents is a lot less astonishing than most of what he's already heard. "Ma'am, sir, it's a pleasure to meet you," he says politely, offering his hand to each in turn. "I'm afraid you won't get anything out of anyone here sir, they're under orders not to update anyone who isn't cleared. SecNav's compiling the list, and his focus so far has been medical and security personnel."

"With the circumstances being what they are, I can understand that, but I can't even get anyone to acknowledge that he's here and alive, much less get them in to see him or an update on his condition. We had someone earlier suggest that since he's not in the computers we try the morgue." AJ's frustration, along with the long days and uncertainty they're still being faced with, is getting the better of him and his temper is slipping from his control.

Even though he doesn't have any family for reference, Duncan understands that much like his own insistence in getting an update before he turns in for the evening—Sheffield's orders—the four people standing in front of him need **something **for their peace of mind, even if it's what little information he has. "He's here, but he was taken into surgery as soon as he arrived," he finally blurts out, unable to come up with a more tactful way to tell them. "Because they want to complete whatever it is they're doing in there and get him through recovery, the earliest they're willing to estimate they'll have time for us is 0700. I'm sure SecNav will have you cleared by then; the team and I will just wait to come up a little later," he offers, hating every word. "I won't lie to you, ma'am; he's been through a lot in the past couple of days and is in pretty rough shape, but they have some of the best surgeons in the Navy in there, so try not to worry too much."

"Thank you Commander; I appreciate the information, even if it is hard to hear. And I do hope you don't get taken to task for your kindness; it is very difficult for a parent to accept being kept in the dark about their child, no matter how old he is."

"Well, ma'am, if there's one thing I've learned from the captain, it's that there's sometimes a way around the rules without actually breaking them. Along with the list of cleared personnel is the order that no one not on the list will be privy to the information; I was never given the list or the order, therefore I'm not disobeying an order." Out of the corner of his eye, Duncan can see AJ shaking his head. "Is there something wrong with that statement sir?"

"The flaw in your logic is that you knew of the order and you disobeyed it anyway," Mac points out.

"Ma'am, if someone wants to come after me for what I did, fine. But they'll have to wait until my attorney can represent me." Duncan wants to glare at her defiantly, but doesn't want to give her any more ammunition towards court-martialing him, but an unidentifiable look on her face makes him want to defend himself. "I don't believe I gave out any information that would compromise his safety…" A second glance in her direction shows that she's trying hard not to laugh; a peek over at AJ shows greater restraint, but the laughter in his eyes gives him away.

"I suppose it's inevitable that they'd pick up some of Harm's more unique qualities after spending so much time with him," Mac comments, more to the room at large than any one person.

"Harm was always good at talking his way out of things when he was a child," Trish remembers. "I guess that's why I wasn't terribly surprised when he decided to become a lawyer when he couldn't fly any more."

"He still is, ma'am; in addition to all the other duties he carries, he's had to smooth out a few misunderstandings between teams. And he's very hard to say no to when he wants something."

"There is that," Trish agrees. "And if you'd extend the courtesy of not saying no to me, I'd like you and the rest of your team to join the four of us for the surgeon's report in the morning."

"I can see he comes by his persuasiveness honestly, ma'am; I couldn't refuse your request if I wanted to," Duncan smiles genuinely, relieved to not have to wait any longer than the previously promised time. All of a sudden he realizes that his conscience feels lighter than it has in a while, but at the same time the rest of him feels much heavier as the fatigue of being awake for the last two days finally catches up with him. Much as he and the rest of the team have tried, they can't seem to master Harm's ability to function for days without sleep and recharge most of that capacity with just a couple hours of rest. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the driver Sheffield assigned to the teams until they are able to secure transportation of their own; he receives a formal dismissal from AJ, assures Trish he will see her in the morning, and intercepts the driver who is looking for him. He meets the gaze of the leader of team 2—Major Russell Hoffer—finding only confirmation that he and his team have the watch with no condemnation for the conversation he couldn't help but overhear with AJ, Mac, Trish and Frank. Feeling that much better about the whole thing, Duncan firmly turns his thoughts to getting some much needed sleep before he lets the team in on the newest bit of news.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: I apologize profusely for the time delay it's taken to get this part out. My muse seems to have returned—with another story in tow—so I've been fighting with her to make sure she spares this one some attention as well. I appreciate everyone who's asked about the story while I was struggling with it and offer a further apology—my internet was out of commission for nearly a month, not what I had planned when I was originally told the changes I wanted to make wouldn't interrupt my service at all. And just when I thought it was fixed, I had to wait another week for them to actually finalize things. For those of you who wish to reread the previous parts, the story is also on and Sacrifices

Part 40

Despite a near repeat of the evening before, Sheffield's timely arrival just minutes before the doctor appears ensures the day starts off better than the previous day ended. Introductions are completed and the doctor is assured even before he asks that Trish doesn't mind the others being privy to her son's condition—she can see that everyone currently present genuinely cares what happens to him. And even though the circumstances aren't the best, she wants to get to know those who know her son the best.

If there's one part of his job that Commander Mark Wells dislikes more than giving a tough prognosis to a patient, it's giving that news to the patient's friends and family. It is not only the size of the group waiting for him on this morning that makes this one of his strangest consultations, it's the composition of the group—an admiral and a lieutenant colonel (both with JAG—probably here to interrogate the guy while his guard is down, he surmises), three civilians, and what could be either a SEAL or Recon team—that chinches the designation. He chooses to launch directly in to the prepared part of his speech, detailing the injuries and any and all steps taken to take care of them, rather than dwell on the incongruities of the situation. The deafening silence and shocked looks on the some of their faces when he's finished makes him believe no one had a completely clear picture of whatever it was that brought his newest patient to this place.

"I'm not going to lie to you and tell you everything is going to be just fine, because it isn't, not without a lot of hard work on the part of Captain Rabb. Taken individually, most of his injuries would be more of a minor bump in a career path, requiring only a period of time at limited duty before being completely forgotten. Put all of those together—and add a few that are problematic at best—and there are more complications than I would have thought possible for one person."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Sheffield questions. "Is his career over?"

"Harm's a fighter; you know that as well as I do. He won't give up his career without a fight," AJ says fiercely.

Wells silently amends his thoughts on the reason for the presence of the JAGs and redirects the conversation before a fight can break out. "What it means is it will be a long and difficult road to get back to where he was before all of this. You are correct, Admiral, in stating he is a fighter, but that is as much a liability as an asset at the moment."

"And just what does **that** mean?" Trish asks warily.

"Quite frankly, he surprised the heck out of us when he came out of the anesthesia almost before we got him to recovery. He shouldn't have even been conscious, yet he was fighting the orderlies who were trying to keep him from hurting himself. They finally managed to get him sedated and settled, but a couple of hours later—and a lot sooner than he should have—it happened again. At that point, several of my colleagues agreed that the only way he'd be able to do any healing would be to put him in a drug-induced coma. It's not a decision they undertook lightly, however it will be much easier on his system than the alternative, which is to wait until he wakes to take any action."

Frank is the first to find his voice after this revelation. "How long?"

"Seventy-two hours, minimum. We'll let him come out of it then, but if there's a repeat, we'll be forced to put him out again. The psychologist my colleagues consulted with seems to think the time will take the immediacy from the situation giving him less of a reason to react badly when he wakes. She also suggests that someone who was not involved in the situation that brought him here talk to him over the next couple of days. Hearing a familiar voice, even if he can't respond, might help him relax."

Disappointment fills the room, as most of those present know they are probably too involved in the situation. AJ and Mac, even though they've sorted out their own feelings about Harm's leaving, know their unresolved relationships with him are not what he needs now either. And that leaves Trish and Frank. Although a little pale from the shock of hearing the unvarnished account of Harm's injuries, they are determined to be there for him…and just maybe help set a few things straight in the process.

"May I see him?" Trish asks, a little hesitant now that it's hit her how badly her son is hurt, but resolved to do so just the same.

"Yes ma'am. He's been moved to the critical care unit, so he can be monitored closely. Due to space restrictions, we can only let one visitor in at a time, and because we must limit visitors in the unit to family, anyone who wants to visit will have to be approved by Mrs. Burnett before we let you in. If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you up to him."

Only Sheffield approaches the three as they make their way to the door. "I'll need to give this new list to the MPs stationed on that floor," he responds to their curious looks. "And Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, if there's anything I can do…just let me or my office know. Despite what you may have heard, I tried to keep him from this. It was never my intention to put him in the field—I wanted him to stay safely behind wherever the teams were staging from, but I was overruled everywhere I turned…"

"I don't blame you for that, Mr. Sheffield," Trish says kindly before turning the tables. "What I do hold you accountable for is the fact that in the last three years I've barely spoken to him much less been aware where he was or seen him. I know you think you had your reasons, but is it really fair to have kept him from his friends and family for that long?" She hasn't raised her voice, but Sheffield can see the anguish in her eyes. He has to ask himself, if he were in his position, wouldn't he feel the same? Before he can come up with a response to either question, they've reached the entrance to the critical care unit where the guard stands. Trish and Frank wait patiently and silently while he gives the MP the updated list, entering the area without another word as soon as the young woman gives the okay.

xxxxx

Left in the briefing room, AJ and Mac take just a moment to request the rest of Team 4, along with the Ranger team, join them at Headquarters in a few hours. They want to get what information they can while it's relatively fresh and get started on their investigation, but first they both know they have other matters they need to clear up first. Duncan assures them both teams will arrive no later than 1100, giving them enough time to locate appropriate attire for the Rangers.

"What are you going to tell the staff, sir?" Mac asks when the two attorneys are alone.

"I think I'll make a general announcement that he's been found and taken to Bethesda—those who know him personally I'll speak to separately about the rest, and inform them he's not up to visitors at this time. Even if they could get past the SecNav's sentries—and I'm pretty certain most JAG officers are fairly low on the priority list for clearance—no one is going to get any closer than you or I can."

"Unfortunately," Mac mutters under her breath. It's frustrating to have him so close, but still have him so far out of reach. "Do you think they'll let us see him when he's awake?" she asks a few minutes later.

"I don't know, Mac. But if they try to keep us away, I plan pull every trick in the book to get in to see him. We have a conversation to finish."

xxxxx

Trish isn't exactly sure what she expected, but the still form in front of her isn't it. She can hardly believe it is Harm lying there on the bed. His face is a rainbow of colors from the bruises he picked up over the last several days. Both eyes are swollen shut; no doubt it would be difficult for him to see were he conscious—and the knowledge that it will be days until he does open his eyes is disturbing. In stark contrast to the bruises is the paleness of a couple of small untouched patches on his face, the lack of color shockingly similar to the bleached sheets on the bed. Those sheets, along with a similarly colored blanket, are drawn up almost to his chin; two IV lines snake from poles—standing like sentinels on either side of his bed—and disappear underneath.

Hesitantly, she reaches out a shaky hand, wanting to draw back the blankets to reveal what lies hidden underneath, but at the same time afraid of what she'll find. Without conscious thought her hand moves instead to his face, brushing softly against his cheek before gently pushing aside a stray bit of hair from his forehead. That simple touch comforts her more than the sight of him in front of her, confirming for the skeptic inside that he is really there. Still, she watches the rise and fall of the blankets over his chest for a long time, speaking softly—whether to him, herself or no one at all, is uncertain—of anything and everything that she can think of, while her head convinces her heart this is real. While they've not had a very close relationship for some time, the miniscule contact from the last several years has bothered her more deeply than she'd have guessed, or admitted.

Some time later, one of the nurses reluctantly and apologetically asks her to leave for a while. It's time to change bandages and check each of the wounds or incisions from the surgery—and there are just some things even a parent shouldn't have to see. Trish joins Frank in the waiting area, and finds him talking with a nervous—and somewhat familiar looking—young man.

"You're Sergei, aren't you?" she guesses before either of the men can say a word. There is no anger or malice in her voice; and no indication of what she feels about meeting the man her son has embraced as a brother.

Sergei jumps to his feet, and would have bolted for the door were it not for Frank's hand on his arm. "Yes, ma'am, I am Sergei," he replies, his nervousness making his accent even more pronounced than usual.

When she first learned of Sergei's existence, she was angry—angry at the war for taking her husband from her and their young son, angry at the governments that kept him away and yes, angry at Harm for hiding the information from her until he had no choice but to come clean. She wasn't, however, angry at her late husband for his part in all of it; by the time Sergei was born, she had married Frank and moved on with her life as best as she could, how could she deny him the chance to find a bit of happiness—if indeed he was happy—when it became apparent to him he'd never make it home. And intellectually she understood why Harm hadn't told her about Sergei when he'd found him—even though she'd moved on with her life and found happiness with Frank, she would always love her first husband—Harm was just trying to protect his memory.

"What are you doing here?" Trish's overwhelming fear for her son, and the fact that she's just spent several hours talking, makes her tone harsher than she intends; it's not until Sergei speaks that he realizes what it must have sounded like.

"I will leave," he offers sadly and without malice, trying again to pull away from Frank.

Trish's head snaps up at that and her weary eyes meet the inquisitive gaze of her husband. "Stay, please. I apologize if my question sounded harsh or abrupt; it was not my intention. What I'd like to know is how did you find out Harm was here, and how long are you able to stay?" Even the second time around the questions aren't exactly what she would have liked to have said, but this time although her voice is still a bit rough, but unmistakably non-hostile.

"I am applying again for American citizenship. Mr. Webb met my plane when it landed and brought me here. All he told me was Harm was hurt, but there is so much security here it must be more than that."

"Someone had to have known you were coming, otherwise you would have never made it this far," Frank comments. "That could be why Mr. Sheffield was running behind this morning."

"Have you seen the news in the past couple of days, Sergei? Have you heard anything about the American pilot who was forced down in the desert?"

"I have been at my mother's farm in Svishchevo. She had a heart attack two weeks ago; I had to decide what I wanted to bring with me and what I wanted to leave behind. With her gone, there is nothing to keep me in Russia any longer. That is why I came here now. Was my brother the American pilot?"

Trish offers sincere sympathy for the loss of his mother, a sadness that she'll never be able to meet this woman welling up, before explaining what they know about Harm. Sergei is shocked to hear everything that has occurred not only in the past week, but also the little Trish and Frank are able to tell him about the past three years.

Sergei then takes his turn to explain that the last time he spoke with his brother was a cryptic phone call informing him of the death of Loren Singer. He mentions that he was a bit lost after his fiancée broke off their engagement and threw himself into work for a time after that, not making any efforts to contact anyone unless it was strictly business related. Several months later, when he'd finally emerged from the funk he'd been in, he'd tried to contact Harm, but hadn't even gotten an answering machine at his apartment. Then his mother began to feel ill, and other than an occasional attempt at calling his brother's last known address, he didn't have time to worry much about why he was unreachable. Now that he knows the story, he understands, even as he berates himself for being so self-absorbed.

The nurse who asked Trish to leave chooses this moment to let them know one of them can go in to see Harm now. Trish still has a few things she'd like to say to Sergei, so she asks Frank if he'd mind going now. Frank is happy to oblige, now that he sees how well his wife is dealing with Sergei's arrival—at first, especially after her original reaction, he wasn't sure she'd accept the young man, but now he has no qualms about leaving them alone together. He steels himself for the sight of his stepson and follows the nurse to the correct cubicle.

xxxxx

Precisely at 1100, the remaining members of Team O and Todd's Ranger team enter the bullpen, accompanied by a single man in casual civilian attire. AJ greets them and leads them to one of the conference rooms before the majority of the personnel realize that some of the newcomers are wearing Army uniforms. Mac, having observed the mass entrance and exit of the unusual group, joins them just as soon as she finishes the last of her phone calls.

Mac greets Gary Hochausen when she arrives in the conference room, clearing up AJ's question about the presence of a civilian amongst the two teams. Gary had finally managed to get away to snatch a few hours sleep after telling the doctors every last thing he knows about Harm's injuries following the surgery. Fate—or devious planning and meddling on Sheffield's part—had placed him at the same hotel as the others, and when he wandered into the restaurant in search of breakfast and a nice strong cup of coffee, he ran right into Major Todd. They were joined a few minutes later by Duncan and the rest of his team, and Gary found himself persuaded to accompany the group to JAG Headquarters.

Once introductions are out of the way and the group is seated around the conference table—with Mac and AJ at either end—AJ turns the meeting over to Mac, as the more experienced investigator. Mac chooses to begin with the most recent events first and work her way backwards, as they will be not only fresher in the minds of the teams, but also to free Harm's team to return to the hospital and keep an eye on their CO. AJ interjects his own questions on occasion, more to clarify a point made than to ask for information Mac neglected to draw out. When they've gone over every bit of the rescue operation and the orders leading up to it, Mac pulls out the notes she made while talking to Sheffield and asks about the competition and incident connected with it. When that topic is also exhausted, a question of whether or not Harm's team would be able to provide insight on any other incidents is raised; a negative reply by both teams—and with reassurances from him that the Rangers will be fed and returned to the hotel—allows AJ to dismiss the Navy personnel, and civilian.

Alone for the first time with the Ranger team, AJ and Mac assure them that they are on their side and will do what they can to help the team. Taking note of the time, Mac suggests a short break for lunch. Not only is she hungry—they all are as it's already 1400—but she'd also like to get the ball rolling on a couple of discrete inquiries to give her a clearer picture of how far knowledge goes in regards to the competition and its aftermath. She has a few former clients who just may be close enough to have at least heard about it.

Mac is so engrossed in collecting her files and mentally reviewing her list of things to do she doesn't realize AJ hasn't left the conference room with the Rangers. "We really need to have Harm's POV on the competition incident," she muses.

"Sounds like you have a valid reason to get in to see him once they let him wake up," AJ comments, making her jump slightly at his unexpected presence. "I'll even let you go first, that way they can't argue I'd already had the chance to ask him about it."

"This is **our** investigation, sir," Mac protests weakly. "We should probably both be there to interview him…and I'll just leave when we're finished so you can talk to him."

"I suspect you want to talk to the good Captain privately even more than I do, Mac; or if you don't, you need to. You conduct the interview, and if in reviewing his responses we find we need further information, I'll use that instead of pulling rank to get in," AJ responds matter-of-factly. "Now, why don't you go place your phone calls while I do mine, and then we'll meet in the cafeteria for lunch to discuss our strategy for the rest of the afternoon."

xxxxx

Over the next three days Trish, Frank and Sergei can be found taking turns at Harm's bedside—at least when the nurses haven't asked them to leave the room to tend to Harm's injuries—or getting to know one another in the family room. During the second day of their vigil, one of the nurses forgets to return the blankets to their original position, exposing the large bandage that covers Harm's left shoulder and extensive bruising across his arms, chest and abdomen as well as the bulky bandages covering his feet. As luck would have it, it's Trish's turn then; she stops dead in her tracks at the sight of her only son, because no matter how long she's looked at his battered face—and no matter what she's been told by the doctors—she's had a hard time visualizing the full extent of his injuries. A few minutes later, a nurse exits the room next to Harm's and notices her frozen in the doorway.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" a concerned voice asks from over Trish's right shoulder. A soft curse is heard when the nurse realizes just why she's still standing there.

The curse draws Trish out of her shock; she steps forward into the small room, her eyes taking in every cut, bruise and bandage. A shiver runs through her as she gets a more accurate idea of just how badly he must hurt, despite the evidence that his drugged sleep is peaceful.

In a matter of moments, the nurse has the hospital gown drawn back up over his torso, swiftly followed by the blankets. In a blink of an eye, everything is as it should be, however, Trish can't help but feel just a bit of outrage at seeing her son is not properly attired, but then stops to ask herself: What is properly attired in a situation like this? She firmly resolves to put the images out of her mind and concentrate instead on the task at hand. Unfortunately that's easier said than done, because she soon finds her mind replaying those few minutes over and over as she begins this vigil.

"I've been sitting by your bedside, keeping watch over you when you were sick or hurt for years. Until you turned 16, the most serious was the broken arm you received when you fell out of the tree rescuing the neighbor girl's kitten. I knew even back then that you would be doing the equivalent on a grander scale when you grew up—I guess, given your hunger to follow in your father's footsteps, I never thought you'd be doing it without being safely in the cockpit of a plane.

"You slept for two days after returning from Vietnam," she rambles on. "I watched you sleep and knew that underneath the obvious and not so obvious wounds you carried, that the spirit I saw that afternoon with the kitten was definitely still there, and I stopped deluding myself that you would be safe from harm during your adventures. Even then I didn't understand what it was that drove you to be so…noble, I guess for want of a better word, and as I started to get a glimpse of what it was that drove you, we began to grow apart."

It dawns on Trish at this point that her current discourse may not be the best topic to promote the feeling of peace and safety in her son. A quick internal debate draws the conclusion that there are some things she needs to get off her chest, and maybe, just maybe, they're things he needs to hear. And if she's at all honest with herself, she knows that she'd never be able to say some of the things she needs to if he were able to respond. Satisfying her conscience, Trish takes a sip of water from the bottle by her side and picks up the thread of her previous thoughts.

xxxxx

To say that Major Todd is astonished at the depth of knowledge his team has of their current situation would be a significant understatement. The young leader is constantly surprised when one team member or another chimes in with a forgotten detail or clarification while he his story—even things he thought they knew nothing about, and realizes he's done them a great disservice by attempting to keep them in the dark. It takes the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening for it all to be told, the tale finally ends as stomachs send up protests at missing the evening meal. Despite their need for specific clarification on several points, AJ and Mac choose to end the session for the day and start fresh with their questions in the morning. After securing transportation for the Rangers, AJ and Mac retire to his office where they spend another hour comparing notes and compiling an ordered list of questions before calling it a day.

Over the next two days, they tackle the list with each of them taking copious notes that they compare when they break for meals or for the day, locating the discrepancies and adding new or deleting answered questions from their lists. It's nearly 2100 the third evening by the time they've covered the last of the questions and not come up with any new ones. Due to the late hour for the third night running, AJ and Mac accompany the Rangers out of the building that evening, as they are also on their way home for some much-needed rest. The group exits the building to find a standoff between the Marine MPs stationed there and several Army MPs.

"What's going on here?" AJ thunders over the loud 'discussion' between the groups.

The Marines, recognizing the voice of the JAG, snap immediately to attention. Time seems to stretch as the others look around for the source of the command before they reluctantly come to attention. "They were trying to enter the building without proper authorization, sir," the burly Gunnery Sergeant in charge of this particular watch offers. "When we refused them entrance, they tried to force their way in, which is when I called for reinforcements."

"Is this true?" AJ questions the ranking Army officer.

"We have orders to take Major Todd into our custody along with any of his team members who refuse to cooperate," the young major replies, ignoring AJ's question.

"May I see your orders?" AJ's voice is deceptively calm as he puts his hand out for the papers he knows the other man doesn't have.

"The…they're...they were given to me verbally. I wasn't given a written copy."

By now the focus of the group is entirely on AJ, leaving Mac free to get the Rangers in the van that's arrived for them. She gives the driver instructions to proceed on the most circuitous route he can devise, making sure he stops to get dinner for the team—the more stops he makes, the better—to lose any possible tail. With the rudimentary outline of a plan from the driver of the van and a bit of information on the young major from Todd, Mac rejoins the group at the other end of the parking lot.

The expressions on the faces of the visitors are truly comical, and Mac has to forcibly restrain herself from laughing aloud when she reaches AJ's side. The topic of his tirade becomes apparent with his closing statements, delivered in perfect timing with her return. A few whispered words between the JAG officers and the unmasked newly commissioned second lieutenant—also known as General Danvers' personal aide—and his band of common thugs retreat from the parking lot, tails between their legs, followed by the laughter of the Marine MPs.

xxxxx

At some point of time in the last three days—although he isn't yet aware of how much time has passed—a feeling of peace and safety has replaced the tension and defeat of his last remembered conscious moments, making the third time Harm wakes a gradual process. The first sense he is aware of is hearing, probably because he has been hearing comforting voices talk to him for a while. There are no voices at this time, just the steady beep of the heart monitor and, just barely audible, slight indicators of someone else in the room. For several long moments he tries to get his voice to work, but his fifth unsuccessful attempt urges him to try an alternate idea. He grumbles inwardly at his failure and switches his plan of attack to his similarly uncooperative eyelids.

A single set of footsteps emerges from the river of sounds in the hallway outside his room, coming to a halt only when they reach the side of his bed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Burnett," a vaguely familiar but implacable voice says, "I really thought he'd be awake by this time."

"Doctor, if there's one thing I've learned about my son over the years, it's that he can always be expected to do the unexpected. Besides, the fact that he's not fighting the sedation like he did when he first came out of surgery has to be a good thing, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Her companion agrees with a smile that masks the beginning barbs of apprehension. "Perhaps he hasn't yet gained enough strength to fight off the sedation as he did before. Ordinarily, I wouldn't even suggest a patient might wake up this early…"

Hearing the doctor suggest that he's not strong enough to overcome the sedation encourages Harm to put that much more effort into it, giving him the incentive to make that last push and finally open his eyes. Of course, it takes a couple of minutes for Trish and the doctor to notice he's managed the feat.

"Harm!" Trish exclaims when she notices the bright green eyes looking back at them. Despite his confusion over her presence, Harm smiles at her—as much as his battered features will allow.

"Welcome back, Captain. Are you in pain?" Dr. Mason inquires. He's one of three doctors assigned to Harm's care, and the only civilian among them.

With all his energies to this point focused on waking up and opening his eyes, Harm hasn't given any thought to how he feels. Now that the question has been asked, awareness of the various dull aches and sharp pains is thrust upon him. There are more places on his body that hurt than he can recall reasons for, and before he admits just how much they hurt, he wants answers. But even as he renews the struggle to get his voice to cooperate, he loses the battle against a renewed onslaught of pain medication and slides into a natural, healing sleep.


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize for the **extremely** long delay in posting. I've been dealing with a terrible case of writer's block, so I've not been writing very much useful lately. I've finally gotten the problems with this portion worked out, so I thought I'd get it posted. That being said, I do intend to keep going, but please forgive me any more delays, as much as I would like to keep a regular posting schedule, a lot has changed in my personal life since I began this, and is taking up more of my writing time and energy.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 41

Preparations are made to move Harm to a private room after he wakes the first time. Although the hospital's visitor restrictions are now more relaxed, potential entrants must still be approved by Sheffield and Trish, therefore the list is still fairly short. Now that they have been reassured by Harm's awakening, Trish, Frank and Sergei finally make use of their hotel rooms for more than a quick shower and change of clothes.

Following a good eight hours of sleep and a breakfast of food not from a vending machine, the three return to the hospital refreshed.

The reunion of the family members is a bit awkward. Harm is apprehensive the next time he wakes and finds not only his mother, but also his step-father and half-brother. This time, at least, he doesn't have to fight to speak. "Oh no," he mutters hoarsely upon seeing the trio enter the room together following another visit by a nurse.

"Brother!" Sergei exclaims happily at seeing him finally awake.

Harm needs something to drink before he can carry on any kind of conversation; he manages a weak smile of greeting instead. Trish guesses his need and brings a cup, first giving him some ice chips as directed by the nurses and finally allowing him to take a few small sips of the water. "Thank you. What are you all doing here?" His voice is still rusty with disuse, but it's music to their ears.

"What are we doing here?" Trish asks incredulously. "We came to DC because we were told you were missing; we're at the hospital because we were then told you were injured. We've waited for three days just for you to wake up."

"Three days?" He can almost recall hearing their voices in what he thought were his dreams—it must have been them talking to him while he was unconscious.

"In typical fashion, you were giving the doctors here a hard time. They had to sedate you to give you time to start recuperating and rebuild some of your reserve strength back up."

Harm absorbs that statement, stunned. "How'd you get here Sergei?" he asks, relegating worries about the lost time to the back of his mind for the moment.

"Mr. Webb met me at the airport and brought me here," the younger Rabb brother answers, misunderstanding the intent behind the question.

"Who told you to get on the plane?" The question is simple, blunt, and all he can come up with at the moment.

"No one. I am getting my American citizenship."

There's something about that statement that Harm wants to question further, but it will have to wait. There are still many unanswered questions swirling around his mind when he loses the battle to remain awake.

xxx

Harm sleeps for most of the next two days, the entire ordeal has taken more out of him than he would have thought possible. Much to his dismay, the times he does wake are at first few and far between—and then he only manages to remain awake for a short time. During the snatches of wakefulness he catches up with his brother and learns why he has returned to the US, hears all the recriminations from his mother about his lack of contact and abrupt career change even as she says she understands why he did it, and finds out that were it not for his infrequent calls home, Frank would have done as Trish asked and used his many connections to try to locate him. These conversations are haphazardly conducted with frequent interruptions as he falls asleep in the midst of an answer—or occasionally a question—but eventually Harm has some of the information he's looking for. They also serve another purpose; proving that his memory is functioning fine as he doesn't require repetition of any answers except those he slept through.

By the beginning of the third day he's able to stay awake long enough to have a meaningful conversation that lasts longer than just a few minutes. There are several such conversations he'd like to have, the most pressing is the one he's wanted to have with one of the doctors since he first woke up—he wants to know what he's looking at, some of what he's been feeling doesn't make any sense to him, but he's been asleep when the doctors have conducted their rounds—until this particular morning.

"Good morning, Captain," Wells offers his customary greeting without looking up from the sheaf of papers he's carrying.

"Good morning…" While Harm's fairly certain he's heard the voice before, he doesn't have any idea who just entered his room.

"What's the damage, Commander?" Harm asks Wells when the other man has finished poking and prodding his way through the usual morning check. When the older man hesitates, Harm takes the initiative. "I'll start with the one thing that doesn't make any sense to me: Why do my feet feel as though they're on fire?" A vague sense of déjà vu surfaces at the question and the image of a dirty tent and the pained look on Gary Hochausen's face flashes before his eyes.

The question seems to jar Wells out of whatever internal musings he's been lost in, and he sees the brief look of confusion that crosses Harm's face. He watches his patient's face as he answers, wishing he'd had time to find someone to sit in to evaluate the Captain's mental state. "Your feet were badly burned and had a considerable amount of debris embedded in them. Between the burns and infection, it will be some time before you'll be able to get back on them."

Harm accepts the knowledge impassively. "And the rest?" he prompts.

Wells goes on to catalogue the rest of his injuries and detail the steps taken to correct them, along with the projected healing and rehab time for each. Harm has yet to hear the report of his rescue, so Wells' assertion of luck at having just six broken ribs and no other broken bones is unexpected. The notion of internal bleeding—the reason he was rushed into surgery upon arrival—does catch Harm off guard, but it's actually the mention of a restricted diet for the foreseeable future that bothers him the most, although he is careful not to let it show. Not even the graphic picture Wells paints of the damage done to his left shoulder by the piece of shrapnel from the Sukhoi—or the fact that he will not have use of his right arm for another day or so—cracks the implacable mask set over his features. Wells leaves him alone at his request at the conclusion of his report, but vows to find someone to get him to talk about his ordeal.

xxx

AJ can feel the tension radiating from Mac as the two of them navigate the hallway towards Harm's room; and honestly, he admits to himself, he's feeling a little apprehensive about this meeting as well. They'd both assumed they would have to beg Sheffield in order to interview Harm, however with a warning he's in rough shape, Sheffield had actually offered to set up the meeting before they could ask, which brings the two officers here before they've completely prepared themselves for the reunion. In unspoken agreement they pause in the doorway until acknowledged, taking in the sight of their former coworker.

There is not a glimmer of pain or a hint of dazedness usually associated with the amount of pain medication one would think necessary in light of his injuries, although there does seem to be a bit of distance in his intent scrutiny of the paper held awkwardly in a right arm that is still not functioning up to par. The fully blossomed bruises on his face almost—but not quite—hide the slight frown of concentration; he's trying to mesh his conversation with a reluctant but informative Gary Hochausen with the pieces of his slowly returning memory, but it's like trying to play a visual matching game blindfolded.

"Admiral, Colonel," Harm greets them once he finally notices their presence. He's more guarded than they've ever seen him, yet his voice betrays only a hint of wariness in the polite greeting. "I hope you'll forgive me for not getting up, sir, but they've threatened to tie me down if I try it again." This comment is made in all seriousness, tinged with more than a little annoyance. Although she tries to stifle it, Mac laughs aloud at the statement, remembering a similar comment made after he'd given himself a concussion aboard the _Hornet_. Taken by surprise by Harm's comment and Mac's reaction, AJ's gaze bounces between the two, wondering while he watches a bit of the tension drain from Mac's form.

"From what little we've been told, it's going to be a while before you can get back on your feet," AJ comments. "I'd listen to them if I were you."

"Understood, sir." Much to his chagrin, even without the orders from AJ and the threat from the hospital staff, he won't be trying it again anytime soon. The standard 'how are you feeling?' questions are asked and answered, the silence following drags out awkwardly. "I was told you have some questions for me?" Harm asks before they all get too uncomfortable.

AJ is again content to let Mac take the lead; they'd spent the past several days when they had a few minutes free compiling this list, using responses from the others to help determine the questions they need to ask him. Following his training as a lawyer, Harm's answers are complete, concise and clear, negating any need for follow-up clarifications, and sometimes providing the answer to two or more questions at a time. By the time Mac announces the end of their questions, they've used less than half the time allotted to them. AJ invents an errand to run, assures Mac he'll be back for her before their time's up, and leaves the two of them staring at one another a bit dumfounded.

The relative openness of the previous conversation becomes apparent with the closing of the door behind AJ. Mac can almost see even more defenses slam into place and there is nothing in his face or voice to betray his fear of further rejection when he asks, "Was there something else you wanted to discuss with me, Colonel?"

"I want to apologize for my behavior on the _Reprisal_…"

"If Admiral Chegwidden is forcing you…" he interrupts.

"No!" she cuts him off vehemently, and then continues more calmly. "He's not forcing me to do anything. **I** want to apologize because when I saw you in his stateroom, even though I'd been looking for you, I hadn't yet figured out what I was feeling about everything and…well, I guess I was hurt and angry that you could have so nonchalantly thought you could waltz back into my life like nothing had happened after no word for three years."

Harm opens his mouth to say something but Mac holds up a hand, requesting time to finish what she wants to say. "After your team members whisked you away, the Admiral told Sturgis and I what you told him and I realized I'd acted like an ass—I should have known you wouldn't leave without a good reason. I wanted to find you again and apologize for my behavior back then, but you were already gone. You went missing before I had any chance to recover from seeing you and all of a sudden, I was looking at the possibility of that being the last time we spoke. I still don't think I've figured everything out in my mind, but I do understand you were just doing your duty."

"I've often wondered why I didn't tell you about resigning when we were in Paraguay. I know why I didn't call you when I finally got home from the debriefing—I was exhausted and not yet ready to face the reality of leaving everything I believe in behind. It became a moot point once I'd talked to the Admiral and I barely got the phone hung up before I crashed—it had been far too long since I'd had a good night's sleep. Then Sheffield showed up and threw everything into a tailspin. I didn't want to leave the way I did, but I couldn't give up the Navy when there was a way for me to stay, but I also couldn't go against my orders and let you know what was going on, no matter how much I wanted to."

"I got most of that from the journal you left me," Mac says with a smile. "If it hadn't been for that conversation with Admiral Chegwidden, I would have thrown it all in the trash without giving it a second thought. The fact that you left it behind almost cinched my conviction that you hadn't left with malicious intent, although there were a few moments I wondered if it would have been easier to just forget about our friendship rather than repair it." The understanding smile in Harm's eyes is the most welcome sight Mac has seen in a long time.

"If there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you don't give up easily on your friends. All I could do was hope that included me as well, considering the way we parted. I think this whole mess started when I took it upon myself to investigate Singer's activities because I was afraid she'd corrupted my brother. Had I listened to my head rather than my heart, I would have told you what I suspected and let you do your job. Keeping that information to myself…it was a move I'm not exactly proud of, because in trying to protect my brother—who didn't need protecting after all—I made myself into the perfect suspect."

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned about you over the years, it's that you tend to protect those you feel need protecting, even if they don't think it themselves. If you're not on the receiving end of it it's actually an endearing quality and it's probably a large part of why you're so good at what you do." This time Harm manages a small smile, painful as it is with the not yet healing bruises on his face.

xxx

AJ leaves Harm and Mac alone, looking for Sheffield whom he hasn't heard much from in a couple of days. A helpful nurse at the information desk points him in the right direction. He wanders for a while, beginning to think she was mistaken when she said Sheffield went out for a walk. But as he nears the corner of the building, he hears the unmistakable voice of the SecNav. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop at first, but the conversation catches his attention.

"…they're not even sure Rabb will be able to get back into the field at the end of all of this. Are you sure you want to use him that way?"

A period of silence lets AJ know Sheffield is speaking on his cell phone.

"He's already told me he's going to ask his family to leave for their safety. I was planning on assigning a team to each of them, just to be safe."

Footsteps behind AJ make him realize just how out of place he must look hanging around the corner of the building. He fishes out his own cell phone and assumes what he hopes is a look of concentration; the footsteps veer off.

"He's talking to Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie now. I haven't yet spoken to AJ, but I was hoping he would be willing to provide Rabb with something to keep him occupied—mundane paperwork or the like."

AJ thinks this sounds like a good idea, especially considering they're falling even farther behind in the office now that Harm isn't going to be taking over his new responsibilities quite yet. He can funnel paperwork pertaining to these cases through Harm for his perusal and opinion, and hopefully keep him in the loop enough that his absence won't be too much of an issue. The only problem is finding a way to ensure his telephone conversations aren't monitored…

"I would like to keep him as involved as possible with regards to the rest of the teams as well. The SAT phone is more than likely with the rest of their gear; I'll have Duncan bring it with him."

…okay, a SAT phone would definitely solve that problem…

"They've been sticking with the Ranger team. Danvers has already made several attempts to get his hands on them. They're safe enough at JAG as well—AJ scared them off during their first attempt and they haven't tried there again."

AJ almost laughs remembering the look on the major's face.

"I'm sure as long as what you have in mind is within the law, AJ will offer his assistance. Just make sure it's all perfectly legal or you'll find it comes back to bite both of us in the rear."

Now that bit really piques AJ's interest. Just who is Sheffield talking to?

"I need to go. Sooner or later someone's going to come looking for me and I'd rather not have to explain what I'm doing out here."

_Much less clarify this intriguing conversation_, AJ muses.

"Things have just about settled down, or will as soon as Rabb gets his family to agree with his plans, so yes, I'll see you on the course on Wednesday—9 am. And Andrew, let me know what you can dig up, will you?"

That's all the warning AJ gets that Sheffield's finished with his conversation. He uses his SEAL training to melt soundlessly and quickly back the way he cane and is around the next corner before Sheffield rounds the first one. He circles around a few vehicles and approaches the corner again from the parking lot—a direct approach from the door he exited from.

"Mr. Secretary," AJ calls when Sheffield comes into view.


	42. Chapter 42

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 42

The lighthearted scene AJ encounters when he returns to Harm's room confirms his foray outside was the right thing to do—Harm and Mac are engaged in one of their verbal sparring matches regarding a recent interpretation of an old case law. Even though there is a little hesitancy in Harm's arguments and nowhere near the passion he's heard in the past, he's certain the two of them have a basis for renewing at least a working relationship, and at the same time, he's relieved as he listens that Harm will be able to reenter the JAG world without having to spend a great amount of time catching up on changes from the last three years.

Reluctantly he interrupts the debate, "Colonel, I believe our time here is just about up."

Mac nearly jumps out of her chair, startled; she was so intent on her argument that she didn't hear him enter the room. Harm, on the other hand, knew he'd entered the room and merely turns his head to look at his returning visitor. He's a bit puzzled by the look on AJ's face, but something tells him now is not the time to ask.

"Captain, if you feel up to it, I'll have someone drop off some paperwork for you to work on. It'll be mundane stuff like case reviews and such, but it should help to ease your transition back into the JAG workload." Sheffield gave him the OK to make the offer when he suggested it during their earlier conversation.

"I'll take whatever you give me, sir. I'm already going stir crazy in here."

AJ smiles to himself; some things never change. "I'll see what we can come up with," he promises as he and Mac exit the room.

xxxxx

Very shortly, another pair of visitors shows up.

"Captain Hochausen, Keeter? It's good to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"I gave Keeter a short version of what you told me on the plane," Gary explains.

"Keeter, I have to admit I didn't even remember about our plans until recently. Things got so complicated there for a while, I'm surprised I even knew which way was up."

"Don't worry about it, Harm. Now that I've heard some of what has gone on, I'm not surprised you didn't show up. And as to what we're doing here, we both have to report to Langley in a little while, and wanted to stop to see how you were doing before we did."

"Report to Langley; for what?"

"We both disobeyed orders in order to get you here," Keeter replies. "They're either going to take us to task for that or give us a medal for helping save your life. While I'd prefer the second, it's probably going to be the first."

"When the Osprey we left the _Reprisal_ on developed engine troubles, Keeter ditched his CIA bigwig and flew us the rest of the way in their jet," Gary explains before Harm can ask. "You already know the orders I've disobeyed. But I haven't had a chance yet to really thank you for saving my life. Again."

"I think we're even now, sir. SecNav should be around here somewhere. Why don't you see if he'll put a good word in for you both for me? And Gary, watch where you're going, because Sadik is still out there somewhere."

"No problem. I believe someone has put a tail on anyone and everyone Sadik could possibly want to go after. It's tying up a lot of manpower, but then again, Sadik isn't your run-of-the-mill terrorist. He has a personal grudge to settle and will stop at nothing to get his satisfaction."

"Don't get too complacent," Harm warns. "We still don't know if Sadik has anyone in country and he has Jack to fill in the blanks now. He's going to know to look for those tails and he won't hesitate to remove them if they get in his way."

"Don't worry about us, Harm," Keeter states. "After the stunts we just pulled, we'll be lucky not to have desk duty for the next 20 years."

"I just might have to retire for good, then," Gary says without malice. "I'm not made to be stuck behind a desk now any more than I was back when you grounded me, Harm."

"Whoa! Harm, you grounded our instructor?"

"Only temporarily, as it turns out," Harm confirms. "But that story will have to wait until a later date. You guys don't want to be late for your meeting at Langley."

Gary and Keeter both look at their watches and jump to their feet. "You're right; we do need to go. We should get together once they let you out of here and catch up."

"After the business with Sadik is taken care of," Harm amends. "Until then, don't forget to speak to SecNav. I'll call myself when I have a chance to get to a secure line…whenever that will be."

"Thanks buddy," Keeter says. Both men nod to their former and once again current friend before exiting the room. They run into Sheffield coming up the stairs and pass along Harm's request.

"I've already talked to the director on your behalf," Sheffield reveals. "If you need anything else, let me know and I'll see it gets taken care of."

"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," Gary states, stunned. "Sorry, we have to run or we'll be late." Both men come to attention even though they are no longer employed by the Navy before hurrying off to their meeting at Langley.

xxxxx

"I just ran into your CIA friends in the corridor. I told them I'd take care of any problems they might run into over this," Sheffield says as he enters the room. "I also brought your satellite phone so you can stay on top of team assignments. The rest of your team should be returning from their leave shortly"—Harm imagines it was rather difficult to persuade them to take that leave with the amount of grumbling he overheard on their last visit—"and Duncan has already submitted a number of possible replacements for the two missing members, pursuant to your approval. It'll be a lot easier for you to get through the bureaucratic nonsense if you don't also have to go through the switchboard for the hospital for every call."

"Why doesn't Duncan just name the replacements and be done with it?" Harm asks, and then broaches the topic no one's wanted to mention since he woke up. "It just might end up being his team anyway, so why can't he make the decision?"

"I've asked him the same questions," Sheffield admits. "He's narrowed the field down, much like you do for the other team leaders, and made preliminary contact with his choices, but he refuses to do the interviews or make the final decision himself. He says that until you or I tell him otherwise, the team and the decision are yours."

Harm is a bit surprised Sheffield hasn't already ordered Duncan to take the team, especially with his initial opposition to Harm being in the field at the beginning of the program. "Well, I absolutely refuse to do interviews from a hospital bed in a hospital gown," he states. "I'll need the use of one of the small conference rooms and a uniform… I'll probably have to make all sorts of concessions to the doctors, but I want to actually look like I'm capable of leading a team if I'm going to do this. Once I get it all set up, Duncan can make the confirming calls and sit in. I want his opinions on these guys once we meet them."

Sheffield can just imagine what the doctors will make Harm agree to before they let him out of bed for the time it will take to interview the possible replacements, but as he has no doubt Harm will make it happen as he wants it, he puts that matter aside as solved. "There is another issue we need to discuss," he begins, not entirely sure how to approach the subject that is far too close to what he insisted upon several years earlier.

"You're talking about the fact that Sadik is going to find out where I am sooner or later and having family and friends visit may be counterproductive to facing him on our own terms," Harm guesses correctly. "I believe you've already assigned people to those who might be in Sadik's sights for any reason." Sheffield nods. "All I have to do then is convince my family to go home. Since I'm officially out of the woods, it shouldn't be too hard."

"What are you going to tell them?"

"The truth or at least a version of it that doesn't make them want to stick around and barricade me in a room," Harm laughs.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Sheffield asks.

"I'm done lying to them, sir," Harm states. "Unless I receive orders to the contrary, I will tell them that every day they remain here the danger to me and to them increases. If they ask for detail, I will provide what I believe they need to know that won't compromise the security of our work."

"And you think that will convince them to go home?"

"I think it will give them the understanding that I'm not doing this to get rid of them. I've already lost 3 years with my family and friends, and believe me, I do understand some of your reasoning behind it, but that's time I can never get back, and damage done to those relationships that will be hard to repair. It's strange…I never realized what those relationships meant to me until I lost them."

"I'll leave the call for what you tell them up to you, Captain. I stand by my decision 3 years ago, but I agree that this time the same tactics wouldn't be prudent. They will have escorts, the same as anyone else who has been in contact with you since you returned here. Whether or not you want to tell them about that, is also up to you."

"Thank you, sir." As Sheffield turns to go, another thought occurs to Harm. "Sir? What about the Rangers? What's happening with them?"

"Your team is keeping a close watch on them," Sheffield promises. "And Admiral Chegwidden has taken them under his wing when they're at JAG HQ for meetings with their lawyers."

"That's good to know. Thank you, sir."

"No need for thanks on that or any other account, Captain. We should all be thanking you for the service and sacrifices you've made, not only in the last three years, but beyond that, throughout your entire career. Rest assured that people who are in a position to notice such things have noticed and those people will make sure it is known beyond them once it is safe, no matter the outcome of this," Sheffield states, referring to Harm's current condition, and the fact that no one knows yet how the recovery will turn out.

"Sir, you've given me more than enough medals for what I've done, not to mention the promotion to Captain. I don't think I want or deserve any others."

Sheffield drops all formality. "Harm, nothing has been given to you. You've more than earned the promotion and medals. I understand recognition makes you uncomfortable, but you're going to have to get used to it. You've done a lot of good during your career, and it's time you realize that." He holds up a hand to forestall Harm's argument. "Ask yourself this: if you were in command of an officer who did even half of what you've accomplished, would you put that officer up for decoration? Or for a promotion?"

Harm doesn't speak for a minute, thinking seriously about the questions. "I suppose you're right," he concedes finally. "I guess I just don't think much of what I've done because I'd be embarrassed if I'd done anything less. I guess I ask more of myself than I do of anyone else…"

"That you do, Captain. Take comfort in the fact that there are not a lot of people out there who could or would do what you've done. How many times have you put your life on the line for someone who you believe needs protecting? Think of that for a while and remember it when you want to protest that you don't deserve something." Harm nods thoughtfully, not completely convinced, but not completely discounting what he's been told either. "Now, I've convinced your family to have dinner with me tonight, so I'd better get going. You look tired, Harm. Get some sleep. I'll ask them to give you tonight, and then you can take tomorrow to get them to leave."

The lighthearted comment falls flat with the appearance of one of Harm's doctors behind Sheffield. "The Captain has had a lot of visitors today. I hope you're going to be the last," Dr. Mason says, walking around Sheffield and into the room. "Captain, your white cell count is still significantly elevated. We're going to have to pinpoint where the infection is located so we can treat it effectively."

Harm winces. They had warned him this was a possibility, but he'd been hoping the antibiotics would do their job and spare him. "Sir, would you tell the Corporal no more visitors tonight?" Harm requests of Sheffield. "If Admiral Chegwidden sends someone with some paperwork, they can leave it, but I don't think I'll be seeing anyone else today."

The look on Harm's face tells him this is not going to be pleasant for his top officer, and is something he had very much wanted to avoid. He recalls the brief flash of emotion revealed when they discussed the leadership of Harm's team and understands Harm knows a lot more than he lets on about his condition and possible ramifications. Sheffield swallows a demand to be told what Harm is afraid of, nods at Mason, and leaves the room without another word. He hears the door close softly behind him and offers up a brief prayer of strength for the man in the room who's all too aware of what this whole thing could cost him.


	43. Chapter 43

I know, it's been a while. I've been working on this on a limited basis for a while now, and finally have something that doesn't leave me frustrated.

Secrets and Sacrifices

Part 43

"Harm, what are you doing?" Trish exclaims the next morning when they arrive.

Startled out of his concentration, Harm nearly knocks the folder he's perusing off the table. "Good morning to you too, Mom," he greets wryly. "Did you have a nice dinner with the SecNav last night?"

"It was fine. Don't change the subject, Harm. What are you doing?"

"Paperwork, Mom," Harm replies. "I agree meekly to whatever tests the doctors think they need to perform and they allow me to do case reviews which I would otherwise find mind-numbingly boring."

"Why would you agree to do work when you are supposed to be getting better?" Sergei asks.

"Because if he doesn't, he'll get into trouble trying to do something more strenuous," Frank guesses with a smile.

"Frank, sometimes I think you know me better than my own mother."

"I had to learn quickly, Harm, just to keep up with you," Frank replies without malice. "You were a handful back then, and I don't suppose that's changed too much with time." Harm doesn't bother to attempt to deny the accusation.

"I'm sorry, darling. When Mr. Sheffield said you couldn't have any more visitors yesterday, I was worried something had happened to you they didn't want us to know about. And then to come in and find you frowning over a folder…I guess I just jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Did you think they were going to kick me out of the Navy because of this?" Harm asks mildly, pretty sure she would like that scenario.

His mother nods. "You know I never wanted you to follow in your father's footsteps. To be honest it still scares me. The proof of the dangerousness of your profession is in where we are right now. But I've come to realize that although I've respected that it is your decision, I never respected the decision itself. Last night Mr. Sheffield recounted some of your exploits over the years, not only from the last three years, but also some of the things you never told us yourself from while you were at JAG."

"Mom…"

"I'm not through, Harmon." There's the tone his mom used to use on him when he did something she didn't agree with while growing up. Harm closes his mouth and prepares to listen to whatever she has decided she needs to get off her chest. "You never told me a lot of what you did over the years because you didn't want to worry me, and I agree it would have worried me to no end to have heard about it back then. But now, hearing everything you've accomplished—all the lives you've saved—makes me realize that you chose the right course of action for your life. I may not like you putting yourself in harm's way, but I can't deny the results of your choices.

"After hearing all those stories last night, and doing more thinking than sleeping afterwards, I was worried when I walked in that you were contemplating giving up what you are so good at without a fight." She looks into the dumbfounded face of her only son. "I didn't want you to make a decision you would certainly regret."

Harm is speechless for a moment. "Wow, Mom, I don't know what to say to that," he gets out finally.

"Just promise me you won't make any rash decisions," she says sternly.

Harm laughs, "I won't Mom. But I don't think you'll have to worry about me getting kicked out of the Navy; whatever else I can or cannot do, I'm still able to work at JAG."

"AJ did mention that you were nominally under his command for the time being," Trish recalls thoughtfully. "So they sent you back to JAG after all you've done for them…"

Harm interrupts before she can get herself going. "Actually, Mom, the transfer to JAG came before all this happened. I was actually supposed to take a new position for a time, until Sheffield decided I'd rested enough or he really needed me, whichever came first. They're not taking my team or position away from me, but I have to be prepared for the possibility that I'll have to give both up because of…" he waves his free hand, not willing to finish the thought.

"Why when you are so good at it, Brother?" Sergei breaks into the conversation. "Why would you give it up?"

"The position requires someone who can go above and beyond the normal physical requirements. If I don't believe I am up to that standard, I would rather step down voluntarily to make room for someone who is up to the standard than put the team in danger. If I'm too blind to see that I'm not up to the standard, I would hope my team members would step forward and let me know before I compromise a mission. That's more important than my ego."

"Do you think they would do that?" Frank asks.

"Duncan refuses to take my position away from me, but I'm fairly certain he would tell me if I was a danger to the team. Or he'd get Jerry to do it by not letting me out of his sight again. Regardless of how he does it, I'm sure he won't allow the team to suffer."

"But if you're able to, you'll go back to the team like nothing happened?" Trish queries.

"Regardless of the outcome, I'll never be able to forget what happened," Harm says defensively. "I've had a lot of time to think about all of it—what I can remember at least—and I've come to the conclusion I would have made the same decisions even knowing what the result of those decisions turns out to be. I still have my life, and that's something to hold on to. Had I not gone, someone else would have had to, or they might not have been able to send anyone at all who would have made a difference. There were far more lives at stake than the one that ultimately was interrupted. Whatever the outcome, that will always be part of who I am now."

"I didn't mean to imply it was a bad decision," Trish tries to clarify. "I was just wondering if after everything, you would still choose to return to that life. I don't know if it will mean anything at this late date or not, but I'll stand behind you, whatever you choose to do."

"Thanks, Mom. That means a lot," Harm confirms. "Until I can make that decision, I have to keep doing what I am able or allowed to do…or face the wrath of the staff, the SecNav and Admiral Chegwidden," he adds ruefully with a smile at Frank.

"That's settled then. What can we do to help?" Frank asks.

"There is something I need to ask you all to do for me…"

xxxxx

"Thank you for agreeing to meet us here, Colonel. We're aware it is an inconvenience to have you come to us…"

"It's not an inconvenience if it keeps General Danvers in the dark as to your location," Mac interrupts. "I do think I've now seen more of DC than the whole time I've lived here. Now what is it you wanted to see me about?"

The Rangers carefully avoid looking at each other. "Ma'am, there are very few people in this world who General Danvers trusts. I thought I was pretty close to the top of the list…" All heads remain perfectly straight, but all eyes focus on one young man, the quietest of the group, who is sitting with his head bowed. "I have found out that was an erroneous assumption on my part; in fact, I've found that he never trusted me at all. Pearce supplied Danvers with reports on all of our activities. That we did nothing wrong – up until now, of course – was considered just luck. Same with the fact that my reports were usually pretty close to those given by Pearce."

"When exactly did you find this out?"

"I called as soon as he told us, so about an hour ago."

"Do you mind if I speak with Pearce alone?"

"Not at all, Ma'am. If you'd like, you can use the reading corner," Todd says, pointing to a section of the warehouse converted into temporary barracks the Rangers are currently staying in.

Mac nods. "That will work fine, Captain."

Specialist David Pearce III rises without any prodding and walks to the area still with his head bowed. Mac wonders if the Rangers took revenge on the man while they were waiting for her to arrive.

"Just start whenever you're ready," Mac offers, watching the young man. When he finally raises his head, Mac sees something she didn't expect – bloodshot eyes and drying tears, but no sign of any bruising.

"I tried to enlist when I was 16," Pearce begins "I actually made it the whole way through basic before my real age was discovered. General Danvers was one step ahead of the MPs. He offered me the chance to stay in and serve my country, so I jumped at it. He fixed it to look like I was really 2 years older than I was and took me under his wing – the first person to make me feel like I was actually worth something.

"I did everything for him, progressing from making his coffee in the morning, to filing and finally typing reports. I guess when I didn't make any noise about what I was filing and typing, he decided he could use me in other ways. On what was really my 17th birthday, he told me what his next assignment would be: to join one of the special teams he was putting together and send reports directly to him regarding my teammates and our missions. I didn't think much of it at first, but he kept asking for more and more personal information, information I didn't feel comfortable giving him about my new teammates.

"That started to cause a rift between us, until Commander Post showed up. Then he had the team do as much surveillance on him and his team as possible, with me still submitting my own reports. I'd gotten over my sense of obligation to him by that time, so what I would do is talk to the others and basically submit their opinions with my own. No one ever suspected anything."

Pearce looks directly at Mac, his eyes boring into hers. "When he got word that Captain Rabb was in that convoy, he called me in for a special briefing. I was supposed to do anything to make sure the captain died out there. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't want to take the chance he'd send another team with another mole to make sure things went his way, so I agreed to do what he asked."

Mac is shocked, but she senses he's not yet saying what he wants to, so she keeps her thoughts to herself. "I didn't know how the guys would react if I told them the truth, so I didn't try to stop them either. I don't know if it would have made any difference, but I feel responsible for what happened." He hesitates, swallows, and then continues. "I told the guys I'd go to General Danvers and explain it was all my fault, but they wouldn't let me. Major Todd told me I had to wait and talk to you…and he made me promise I would do whatever you thought best."

"Under no circumstance are you to go to General Danvers and take the blame," Mac orders. "Despite the fact that a life was saved, the general is trying to use the incident to roast all of you. If you put yourself out there, it will make it easier for him to get at the others. He'll use you against them so smoothly that you won't know what hit you. His order was unlawful and he knows it. With that knowledge, it will be easier, not harder to defend all of you."

"But…"

"No," she cuts him off, "no buts. Let me ask you this – what information did you give him about your teammates?"

"I don't know, dumb stuff, I guess. What he could find out by asking anyone around base. That's why he kept pushing me, because he wanted information on them that he could blackmail them on. Especially Major Todd. And Commander Post when he came into the picture. But I kept acting like the everyday things were what he was interested in and giving them those."

"And what does your team think about that?" she asks, knowing full well they've been listening the whole time.

"I don't know, I'm afraid to ask. I betrayed them."

"Doesn't sound to me like you betrayed anyone, except yourself," Todd comments, rounding the corner with the rest of the team behind him. "We still trust you, Pearce, but what I would like to know is do you still trust yourself?"

"Trust myself? What do you mean?"

"You've confessed what you've done…do you trust yourself not to do the wrong that may be asked of you in the future?" Pearce still looks puzzled. "Do you trust yourself not to fall for another General Danvers' tricks? You're part of this team until you want out, but to let you out, you have to convince me you aren't quitting for any type of misplaced guilt."

Realization dawns as they all watch. "You guys still trust me?" Heads nod all around. "I never wanted to be his mole in the first place. I didn't feel it was right, even before I met you guys." He looks away from his team. "I was wrong. The general never made me feel as important and needed as you have."

"Well then, can we forget this nonsense and let the Colonel get back to work? I'm sure she needs to speak to Admiral Chegwidden and the Secretary about this."

Mac nods in agreement. There's lots she needs to tell her commanding officer. "Pearce, you going to be all right?" she asks.

He looks up. "Yes, ma'am. And ma'am…would you let Captain Rabb know I'm sorry?"

"How about you tell him yourself when this is all over?" she suggests. Pearce blanches. "Don't worry; once he hears the story, I'm sure he won't be any more upset than your teammates."

"Are you sure about that, ma'am? I mean, he's hurt pretty badly, and wouldn't have been if I had spoken up…"

"I haven't worked with him for several years," Mac tells him sincerely, "but in the time I did work with him, I've never known him to be unfair to anyone."

"O-okay," he says shakily.

Staff Sargeant William Peters claps him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Pearce, we'll be right there with you. After all, what's a team for?"

A smile ghosts across Pearce's face. "Can I hide behind you when I tell him?"

"Nope," Todd answers. "But we'll be standing right there with you, if that is what you want." The others nod in agreement. Relieved that one crisis has been averted, Mac leaves the men to reassure their own that he won't be left in the cold.

xxxxx

"You want us to do what?" Sergei asks.

"Go home," Harm repeats.

In light of the conversation they just had, Trish knows there is something more behind this than him wanting them to leave. "Would you mind telling us why?"

"Because Sadik is still out there. He wouldn't hesitate to use any of you against me, and I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen. We're pretty sure he hasn't found me yet, but it's only a matter of time until he does. When that happens, I don't want him to learn of any family or friends I have."

"You're not telling us this to get us out of your hair, are you?" Franks asks flippantly, trying to warm up the iciness of the room from Harm's request.

"I'm glad you were able to stay long enough to convince yourselves that I'll be OK, but the longer you stay, the more time Sadik's men have to find me and find someone to use against me. Trust me, it's bad enough that he knows I'll give myself up to protect innocents, but if he were to have one of you…." Harm can't finish the thought.

"Will you keep in touch this time?" Trish asks, trying to hide her apprehension over Harm's confession.

"As much as I'm able, which for a while probably won't be very often," Harm responds honestly. "Until we catch him, the entire country is in danger, not only me. But as long as I can keep him focused on finding me, I'm hoping he will put his other plans on the back burner. He wants revenge, and I don't think anything will stop him from getting it."

"You are going to use yourself as bait?" Sergei asks with the intuitiveness of a former military soldier.

"Eventually," Harm admits, "but obviously not until I'm out of the hospital. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because he's still out there."

"I could have done without hearing that," Trish says in exasperation.

"I'm trying to be honest with you, Mom," Harm tells her gently. "Obviously I can't tell you everything, but I will be honest with you about what I can. No more evasions."

"What happens if he finds you before you're ready?" Frank asks.

"Any of the teams that aren't out on a mission are hanging around here to keep things under control Trust me, this is currently one of the most secure buildings in the area, second only to the White House," Sheffield answers for Harm, walking in the door just as the question is asked. "We are taking every precaution we can because we know just how much Sadik would like to get his hands on your step-son."

"Mr. Sheffield, thank you again for dinner last night, and the information you gave us," Trish offers. "As I told Harm, I never really understood what he did and why he did it until last night. I appreciate your candor in the matter."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Burnett. Your son has given more to this country than this country has the right to ask of anyone. And yes, we are prepared to ask him to give more, just as we are asking that you return home so you are not placed in harm's way. I know it is unfair of us to do so, but believe me, it is for your own safety.

On another note, I'm sure he's already told you he will be out of touch for a while." Trish, Frank and Sergei all nod and he hands them each a card. "This is my personal number. Should you have any questions or concerns, I will be happy to answer them. And I make you a promise that should something happen, you will be informed as soon as it is safe to do so."

Trish tucks her card into her purse while the men both place theirs in their wallet. "I have some other business to attend to so I will excuse myself. Captain, I will be back in a few hours. We have some things we need to discuss." As quickly as he arrived, Sheffield is gone again, leaving the small family alone once more.

"Well, that is certainly more than we got the first time," Trish comments, a little bitterly.

"It's taken him this long to get to this point, but I'd definitely say it's progress," Frank chimes in, not wanting their last day to be full of angst.

"That's true," Harm agrees. "I could tell you stories that would make you wish you could have been a fly on the wall for the conversations, but I don't think that's what you'd really like to do today." He looks questioningly at his visitors, all of whom shake their heads in the negative.

"So Sergei, what have you decided with regards to where you want to go and what you want to do?" Frank asks. "There's still a place open for you at the company where I work if you're interested."

This is news to Harm. "Frank?" he queries.

"I offered Sergei a position at Chrysler," he replies simply. "Your mother and I have told him he can stay with us until he gets on his feet, whatever he decides to do."

"I believe I will take your offer," Sergei says slowly, "but I would like to visit the mother of my father, if that is…" he hesitates, seeing the horrified look on his older brother's face.

"Your friend, Mr. Webb, offered to fill your grandmother in. He said he'd stay in the area for a few days to keep her updated until she was satisfied," Frank reassures his step-son. "We'll send him back when we get there."

"Did she get my letter?"

"Mr. Webb took it with him. He said he would explain you were safe before giving it to her to read."

"Thanks Frank. Somehow, with all that has been going on, I completely forgot about her."

"There has been a lot going on, so don't beat yourself up over it. Let someone have your back for a time."

"Thanks Frank," Harm replies again, accepting the gentle reprimand.

The rest of the afternoon, the four talk of inconsequential items, keeping the mood light. But the future is on everyone's mind; the uncertainty of the trials still in store for Harm hidden deeply by unspoken consent. When it comes time to leave, the smiles of his visitors slip a bit. They leave with his promise of communication as soon as he can arrange it – and his promise to be careful. With one last look back, Trish tearfully says goodbye and wishes her only son good luck. Her head understands why he insists on taking the journey alone, but her heart wishes she could stay around longer, to save him from what he believes his duty is. A flash of anger chases the tears, _Damn his sense of honor_.


End file.
